Guiltless Crimes
by bambers2
Summary: In the forests of Old Forge, NY five young women release a demon of epic power and pay the price. Caught in a terrifying vision of their deaths, Sam and Dean follow the trail and discover they are not the hunters...but the hunted.
1. Chapter 1

Old Forge, New York

"I don't want to do this, Krista," Sandra whispered, shining her flashlight back toward Beth and the other two girls and then into the thicket of trees in front of her. "I have a really bad feeling something is gonna happen."

"Nothin's gonna happen, Sandra," Krista reassured. However, the slight tremor in Krista's voice spoke volumes, and did little in the way of comforting Sandra. "We've done this tons of times. Nothing ever happens . . . it's just for kicks." Krista readjusted her grip on the large black mirror she carried under her arm. "Besides, there's not much else to do since the tourist season is over."

"Well, why did we have to come all the way out here to the woods to try and conjure . . . what was its name again?"

"Beliar."

"Beliar," Sandra repeated, the name leaving a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly a searing pain ripped through Sandra's forehead as horrifying images flashed through her mind. Krista and the others in terrible agony, visions of maimed and gruesome death. She shuddered, her eyes blurring against the onslaught. Doubling over, Sandra kneaded her temples to ease the ac

"Are you okay, Sandra?" Krista shined her flashlight on Sandra. "Your nose is bleeding. Maybe I should take you back home."

"No. I'm fine," Sandra said, ignoring the look of concern on her friend's face, she swiped away the blood with the back of her hand. "I just don't understand why we had to come here to summon him?"

"Because," came a voice from behind. "We are closer to all the elements this way." Sandra turned her head and saw Beth marching toward her carrying candles and an ominous looking curved blade. Jenna and Amber followed further behind.

"Natural magic." Beth said. She paused when she reached Sandra, cocked a brow, her dark jade green eyes sparkling with amusement, and added, "Besides, it's more fun this way. More spooky."

"But this is just stupid. There are bears out here and God knows what else," Sandra said, peering into the darkness she heard shuffling in the thick brush. She quickly aimed her flashlight toward the noise and a raccoon scrounging for food scurried away.

"I told Krista not to bring you along. Told her that you were way too chicken."

"I'm not afraid. I just don't want to be bear chow," Sandra replied evenly, although she was afraid and it had nothing to do with bears. The horrific image of her friends dying had seemed so real. Their fear so profound she could taste its bitterness. But as much as Sandra wanted to run home and hide from her fears, she realized she wanted to fit in with Krista's friends, especially Beth, even more.

"Good, that's settled. Now lead the way, Sandy," Beth challenged. Her cool gaze lingering on Sandra for a second, before she turned to Amber and Jenna. Amber stopped beside Beth and lit a cigarette. She took a long drag and blew the smoke in Beth's face. Beth scowled and swatted the smoke away. "God, Amber, you're gonna burn your lungs out before you're twenty, smokin' like you do."

"Naw, can't smoke at home." Amber smiled. "My parents would kill me if they found out." She inclined her head toward Jenna. "At least I ain't like Jenna, makin' it with over half the guys in Old Forge . . . not to mention the tourists."

"Hey, that's not true," Jenna quipped, brushing her fingers through her long, wavy flaxen hair, her sapphire eye's glistening mischievously. "I only go for the gorgeous ones . . . and leave the rest for you guys."

"You're too kind, Jenna," Beth scoffed, gesturing toward a grouping of trees up a head. "In there. It's the perfect spot."

They walked the rest of the way in near silence. Amber and Jenna lagged behind, gossiping and giggling quietly, while Sandra and Krista resumed the lead with Beth beside them. Once inside the circle of trees, Krista situated the black rectangular mirror on the ground. Beth placed the candles around it, then lit them.

When they were all seated around the mirror, Beth handed the knife to Amber, who cut her index finger and wrote a backwards 'R' in blood on the glass. Amber gave the blade to Jenna and she followed suit only this time added the letter, 'A'. Both Krista and Beth took a turn and then it came to Sandra.

Sandra shook her head and pushed the knife away. "I'm not doing that."

"You have to," Jenna and Amber squealed nearly at the same time.

"I'm not gonna," Sandra adamantly replied.

"Here, give me that!" Beth grabbed the knife from Krista. She glared at Sandra, the candlelight reflecting eery golden light in her eyes. Beth silently dared Sandra to turn her head as she closed her palm around the blade and sliced downward, a hiss of pain escaping her lips. With her own blood, Beth finished the name and then drew a pentagram around it.

"Now, if Sandra doesn't have any more objections we can begin." When Sandra said nothing, Beth continued, "Join hands and repeat every word I say. Beliar, in this dark hour, we seek your truth, we seek your power."

"Beliar, in this dark hour, we seek your truth, we seek your power," they all chimed in, saying it over and over again, their voices growing louder. The wind howled furiously, the candles flickered, then grew, licking greedily at the shadows.

From deep within the mirror, they heard a dark, charismatic voice. "Finally. The day of reckoning is at hand."

In an explosion of writhing flames, the mirror shattered. Thick black smoke billowed from the glass and hovered above them.

Suddenly, Beth's head slammed back on her shoulders. Her screams choked off as the vile smoke surged down her throat. Her head snapped forward. Jade green eyes glazed, then turned brilliant and dark obsidian as she fixed each girl in turn with her glittering gaze. A wicked smile twisted on her lips.

Terrified, Sandra and Krista broke free of the other girls' grasps and scurried backwards on all fours, while Beth held firmly onto Jenna and Amber's hands, squeezing tightly and refusing to let them move. Both girls screamed as she crushed the bones in their fingers. "I have waited far too long for this day to come," Beth said with a derisive laugh.

Beth stood and pulled Amber and Jenna to their feet. "You sought the truth," she paused and glanced from one girl to the other and then uttered, "and the truth is that you shall die." She forcefully pitched Amber to the ground and turned her attention to Jenna. "You were sleeping with Beth's boyfriend behind her back." Beth grabbed Jenna by the neck and lifted her off the ground. "What a good friend you are . . . aren't you."

"Beth, I'm so sorry," Jenna pleaded, her voice coming out in choked sobs as she tried to wriggle free from Beth's steely grasp. "It just happened . . . I never meant — "

"Beth is no longer here . . . I am Beliar. However, I prefer Belial. Those who call me by Beliar usually end up dying. . . . Man, it so sucks to be you right about now, doesn't it?" A maniacal laugh escaped his parted lips as Jenna trembled in his arms.

Jenna twisted around and cried out to Amber. "Help me, Amber . . . please!"

"I don't think so." Belial waved his hand in the air, pinning the girls to the ground with his demonic power. He returned his gaze to Jenna. "When lust is the offending sin, we must pluck it from our sight. But since Beth's boyfriend isn't here, we must do the next best thing" Belial raised Beth's hand, and her fingers cracked and split. Blood dripped down her arm as thick yellowish claws ripped through her polished fingernails. "I forgive you of your sin," Belial sneered and lowering the two middle fingers, he plunged daggerlike claws into Jenna's eyes so ferociously the tips protruded from the back of her skull. "And now Beth forgives you as well."

Horrified, the three girls screamed as they watched Jenna's body slump over into Beth's arms. Belial grabbed her hair and wrenched her free from his claws and threw her lifeless body against a hawthorn tree. Jenna crumpled to the forest floor, twigs and branches snarling into her hair.

Then Belial turned her diabolical glare to Amber. "So, you like to smoke . . . like to burn out your insides."

Amber swallowed hard as she shook her head.

"Let's just see how much you like it," Belial snarled.

"No . . . I — "Amber began, but Belial cut her off.

"Obey thy parents . . . such a simple commandment and one we demons love so dearly. Strangely enough, the simplest ones are always the hardest to follow." Belial strode over to Amber and wrapped his fingers around her thick reddish-blond locks and dragged her to her feet. "Thou shalt not sin, Amber, but if you do — " Belial leaned into her. With their lips lightly touching, he blew his heated, sulfur-scented breath into her mouth. "I will show no mercy." He abruptly released her from his grasp.

Amber stumbled backwards, tripped over Krista and landed on top of Sandra. Amber coughed, gasping for breath, her body convulsing with the effort. She grabbed hold of Sandra's coat and struggled to pull herself up until they faced each other. Blood seeped out of the corners of Amber's eyes and from her dried, cracked lips. Sweat streamed from her fevered forehead, her skin bubbling and blistering from the heat of her parched skin. Amber opened her mouth to speak and fiery steam escaped from her lips, scorching Sandra's face.

"Stop it! Leave us alone!" Sandra cried out, panic-stricken, protectively holding onto Amber.

"Oh, I don't think so. This is way too much fun," Belial taunted as Amber let out a choked gasp and then went deathly still. "Two down . . . two to go."

In an instant, Belial was at Sandra's side, kneeling down and gesturing toward Krista. "Quick or slow . . . you decide."

Sandra gaped at Belial and then Krista. Krista trembled violently, deep wrenching sobs tore from her lips. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she desperately tried to move away.

"Please, Sandra," came Krista's scarcely controlled plea.

Sandra peered up at Belial and shook her head, swiping away her own tears. "I won't."

"Very well." Instantaneously, Belial was at Krista's side, crouching as he twisted around and opened his hand and summoned the blade. The knife they'd used earlier flew into his outstretched palm. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and then dragged the edge of the blade down Krista's throat. Blood oozed from the cut. Krista screamed out in agony as he slashed into her right cheek and then the left."Decide!" Belial demanded, jabbing the sharp tip into the corner of her eye.

"D-Don't — don't let him make me suffer," Krista sobbed. "Please . . . I'm begging you."

"Quick . . . make it quick," Sandra cried out, her upper lip quivering. She lowered her head to the side.

"No, you mustn't look away," Belial ordered. He waved his hand and Sandra's head wrenched to face him. His sinister glimmering eyes met her terrified gaze. He slammed the dagger into Krista's throat and yanked downwards. The blood-soaked steel cleaved through her chest and stomach. Her innards spilled out onto the damp forest floor. Belial stood, dragged her body from the ground and threw her into a tree. Krista's lifeless form caught between the crook of two thick branches, and her head lolled to the side. "And now for you." He waved his hand again, releasing Sandra from his demonic grip.

"I don't want to die . . . please," Sandra cried, pushing Amber off her lap, she slowly crept backwards. "I'll do anything."

Belial's attention diverted briefly as he stared into the darkened recesses of the forest. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. Then, he was at Sandra's side, whispering seductively in her ear. "I have a message I want you to deliver." Belial touched her forehead and nodded, satisfied. "When the time is right, you will remember."

Suddenly, Belial slammed his fist into Sandra's jaw. Sandra's head snapped to the side as she fell to the ground. She recovered and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling. She sprang to her feet, and ran as fast as she could. Belial caught her by the hair and whipped her around, smashing his fist into her side and then drove his blade deep into her shoulder. Sandra doubled over, trying desperately to catch her breath. She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting salty blood.

Belial's grip tightened around her tangled tresses. He yanked her closer to him and sliced into her right cheekbone with his claws. Razor-sharp fingernails bit savagely into her flesh. Sandra screamed, thrashing wildly, her hair ripping from her scalp.

Sandra broke free and staggered away. Her eyes blurred, darkness threatening to engulf her. She tried to move faster but her legs felt thick and useless. Sandra's shoulder throbbed mercilessly as blood coursed freely from her wound.

Through heavily-lidded eyes, she peered up and saw a tall, lanky man haloed in a strange silver haze not more than ten feet in front on her. An angel. She was dying. Sandra stumbled over to him and fell into his open arms, her nails digging a crimson trail down his bare chest. Her head dropped back on her shoulders as she looked into his beautiful hazel eyes. "Help me," she whispered and then her head lolled to the side.

"Sam! Open the damn door!" Dean hollered, slamming his fist against the bathroom door, and jiggling the handle. When Sam didn't answer, Dean kicked the door in and rushed to his brother's side.

Sam sat against the cold tiled wall between the sink and the bathtub with his legs curled up, fingers woven tightly in his damp hair, a towel wrapped around his waist. His lank body trembled. Dean crouched beside him, his green eyes narrowed noticing bloodied raised welts on his brother's bare chest. "What happened, Sammy?"

Sam glanced up and Dean saw that his nose was bleeding. Tears glistened in his hazel eyes. "I don't know, Dean . . . A vision, I think. But it was different."

"How so?" Dean's brows pulled together in concern.

"It was like I was actually there. The girls were screaming, I could taste their blood in the air and smell flesh burning, and then. . . ." his voice trailed off.

"And then what?" Dean softly coaxed.

"And then she begged me to help her right before she died in my arms."

Dean let out a pent breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He scratched the back of his head, not knowing what to make of Sam's visions or the marks on his chest. "Are you sure they're dead, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "I couldn't stop it, Dean . . . didn't even try. I just stood there rooted to my spot and watched as it killed one girl after another. God, Dean, I didn't even realize it was actually happening until she landed in my arms and I felt her nails digging into my skin." Sam angrily swiped away a tear with the back of his hand. His forehead furrowed as he grabbed hold of Dean's T-shirt. "I should've tried to stop it, Dean . . . I should have done something."

"Come on, Sammy. It's not your fault," Dean said, patting his brother on the shoulder. He stood and helped Sam to his feet, being careful not to put too much strain on his brother's recently injured ribs. Sam flinched and Dean cursed under his breath. He'd wanted to give Sam a chance to heal more from the vampire attack before they went on another hunt, but now that would be impossible. "Let's go an' kill that evil sonuvabitch."

Outside the bathroom, Sam eased down onto the bed and brooded quietly. Dean nudged him and handed over his clothes, then started throwing their stuff into duffle bags. Sam sat there, his head lowered, not bothering to put his clothes on. Silently, Dean waited for Sam to say something. Waited, knowing that his little brother blamed himself for their deaths. Waited, knowing there was nothing he could say that would change Sam's mind. Finally, Dean couldn't stand the silence any longer. "You can't blame yourself, dude."

Sam cocked his head to the side and peered up at his brother. "Dean, you should have seen the look in her eyes," he murmured forlornly. "She thought I could save her . . . and I did nothing."

"Well, we can't save everyone, Sammy."

"But I should have been able to help her. I was right there."

"No, Sam, you were here with me." When Sam shook his head and was about to argue, Dean shook his own head and added, "And I don't care what kind of freak premonition you had, it doesn't change the fact that not more than thirty minutes ago you were singing in the shower . . . badly, I might add . . . but still singing nonetheless."

A wry smile pulled at the corner of Sam's lips. "You're right, Dean."

"Of course I am, that's why I'm always in charge," Dean said with a winsome smile.

"Whatever, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam laughed, then winced, gingerly kneading his ribs. Dean noticed the once long purplish-red bruises along the side of Sam's taut muscular chest were faded and tinged with yellow and the swelling had gone down considerably. "Where did you put the bandages, Sammy?"

"In my bag."

Dean rummaged through Sam's duffel until he found them. He strode over to the bed and motioned for Sam to raise his arms and then began to bind his ribs tightly. When Dean was finished, he stood back and admired his work. "Not a bad job, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah right, Nurse Ratchet." Sam fidgeted around trying to loosen the bandages a bit. "Man, Dean . . . if you'd tied these things any tighter, you'd be givin' me mouth to mouth resuscitation."

"Quit being a girl, Sammy. Now get your sorry butt up and get dressed so we can go and hunt that thing down."

While Sam got dressed, Dean took their bags and threw them in the Impala and then went to check out. By the time Dean returned, Sam was already in the car. Dean got in, turned the key and the engine roared to life.

"Where to?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know . . . east I think."

"East, you think?"

"Well, the leaves were changing color and it was cold."

Dean shook his head, his eyes narrowed slightly. "So you have no idea where we're going, do you?"

"No. I thought we would just drive east until something looked familiar or we heard about it on the news." Sam cocked his head to the side and stared hard at Dean. "After all, four teenage girls being murdered would certainly make the headlines somewhere."

Dean was about to argue, but the determined look in his brother's eyes and the slight tick in his cheek, spoke volumes. Sam still blamed himself for what had happened and was hell-bent on finding whatever demon had killed those girls and nothing was going to stop him.

Finally, Dean nodded. "East it is then." Backing the Impala out of the parking spot, Dean shifted to drive and peeled out of the parking lot, dust and smoke scattered in their wake.

Sam knocked and then entered the hospital room with Dean behind him. A young girl, no more than seventeen or eighteen, lay beneath the covers of the bed. Her eyes were closed, her right cheek bandaged. Thick brown waves of hair haloed her pale, drawn face.

Sam sucked in a deep breath feeling as if someone had just punched him in the gut. His stomach churned violently and he felt as if he might throw up. He shivered involuntarily as sweat prickled at the back of his neck and beaded on his forehead. He swivelled around to face Dean, inclining his head toward her. "I can't do this, Dean."

Sam tried to leave, but Dean grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him. "What do you mean, you can't do this? We drove all the way from Tucson to kill this thing and she's the only witness."

"That's her, Dean. She's the girl who landed in my arms . . . the one who begged me to save her," Sam uttered, his voice thick with emotion. His sorrowful hazel eyes pleaded with Dean to understand.

"So, we've got a job to do, Sammy. We need to find out what kind of demon we're dealin' with and she's the only one who can help."

"She's gonna recognize me."

"No, she isn't." Dean grinned. "She probably thought you were some sort of angel, dressed in nothing but a towel, flexing your pecs at her."

"Not funny, dude. And I wasn't flexing anything at her. God, Dean, she's only a girl."

"So, she's cute."

"You're sick."

"Whatever, dude." Dean pushed him forward into the room and cleared his throat to gain her attention. "Excuse me."

The girl's eyes fluttered open. She glanced up at Dean and smiled. Wincing, she gently touched the side of her face. She looked from Dean to Sam and her grayish-green eyes narrowed slightly. She tilted her head to the side, a befuddled expression on her face. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Sam cast a sidelong glance at his brother, and Dean shrugged, a smirk on his face. Returning his attention to her, Sam smiled awkwardly and said, "I don't think so. We're reporters, Miss Parker. This is Dean," he gestured toward his brother, "and I'm Sam."

If it were at all possible, she appeared even more confused. "Sam and Dean," she repeated breathlessly.

"Yeah, we wanted to ask you a few questions." Dean graced her with one of his most dazzling smiles, but she never even noticed. He grabbed a chair from the table by the window, motioned for Sam to do the same, and sat beside the bed. "It won't take long, Miss Parker."

"It's Sandra," she said, briefly looking away from Sam to Dean and then her gaze strayed back and firmly fixed on Sam. "What did you want to know?"

"What really happened that night, Sandra?" Dean asked.

"I already told the other reporters what happened. They didn't believe me . . . no one does . . . no one really wants to hear the truth."

"We do," Dean assured.

She nodded as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. "Okay," she began.

They sat quietly, listening and exchanged knowing glances as Sandra recounted what had happened, grim tight-lipped frowns on both their faces.

When Sandra was finished, she added, "It was supposed to be a joke. You know . . . for fun. I never believed —" her voice trailed off as more tears filled her eyes. "And then Beth — her eyes were so black. How does something like that happen?"

"Have you ever watched the Exorcist, Sandra?" Dean asked flippantly, shaking his head in disgust, his green eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," she replied, confusion registering on her face.

"And what, that whole heading spinning around, puke spewing, levitating off the bed thing looked like a good time to you?" he said, gesturing around his head with his hands. "Cause that's what happens when you mess with demons."

"I um . . . Are you serious?"

Sam knew Dean was about to comment further so he cut him off. "Dean." He threw him a look that clearly said shut up, before he turned and smiled awkwardly at Sandra. "Uh, I think we've taken up enough of your time . . . thanks for allowing us to interview you, Sandra."

They were nearly out the door when she called to them. "Wait . . . I think I have something more to tell you.You said your names were Sam and Dean, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, turning to face her.

"I think I have a message for you." Sandra shrugged, her eyes rounding with fear. "It just came to me all of the sudden like it was some kind of deep seeded threat buried in the back of my

mind . . . I'm not even sure it is meant for you, but. . . ." her voice trailed off.

"But what?" Dean prompted.

"Beliar said that he saw you." She gestured toward Sam. "He saw you and knew you would come . . . he'll being waiting for you and your brother."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Come on, Sammy. You've researched that evil son of a bitch long enough." Dean got out of the car and slammed the door. He strode over, leaned against the hood of the Impala, crossed his arms and waited for his brother. "We'll just trap it and send it back where it belongs," he called back over his shoulder.

"I'm not so sure it's gonna be that easy, Dean." Sam sidled up alongside his brother, holding his laptop. "Beliar is one bad ass demon, dude. It's even included in end time prophesies. And all I could find was some stuff about brass vessels and rings and there was some mention about divine intervention."

Sam opened his computer and pointed to the link he'd been studying. "Its sole purpose is to bring about wickedness through lies and deception . . . and Sandra said he was waiting for us."

"Do you have a point to make in there somewhere, Sammy? Cause I gotta tell ya, in between all the blah, blah, blahing, I'm not getting it."

Sam's eyebrows drew together, his forehead furrowed. A tight-lipped scowl pulled at his cheeks. "Yeah, Dean, I have a point. Our whole lives are one big deception after another. We lie to everyone . . . hell, we even lie to ourselves."

"Hey, dude, I got a clear conscience." Dean pushed away from the car, his arms bent with palms outstretched, he shook his head. "We save lives, Sammy, and if we have to lie to do it, then I'm fine with that."

Dean swaggered around to the back of the Impala, with Sam following, and popped the trunk. He handed Sam a shotgun, extra salt rounds, a .45, a knife and a flask of holy water, and then got out his own weapons.

Sam put his laptop in the trunk and turned to face his brother. "All I'm saying, Dean, is that we need to be careful." Sam's determined gaze fixed on him. "You're all I have left, and I can't lose you."

Dean's green eyes darkened, his jaw clenched tightly. The muscle in his cheek hammered away, menacingly. "Just stick close, Sammy, and we'll be fine."

Sam hadn't meant to wander so far from Dean, knowing how dangerous it could be for both of them to be lost in the fog with a demon on the loose. When they had left the Impala, hidden in a cove of trees beside the road, the sky had been clear, the moon and stars filling the sky overhead. Soon after entering the forest, however, they'd both heard what sounded like a woman humming an eerily soft lullaby and then the mist rolled in, thick and unnatural.

Dean warned him to stick close and was going to be as pissed as hell Sam hadn't listened. In truth, he'd only intended to stop long enough to catch his breath. He couldn't very well tell Dean that his healing ribs ached. He'd never hear the end of that, and the last thing he'd wanted was another lecture on how it was Dean's job to protect him. _God, he would have probably insisted I stay in the car_ _or something stupid like that._

Leaning against an old tree, Sam rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. He just needed a minute to regroup, to gather whatever stores of untapped energy he could muster, but he was so damn exhausted he didn't think he would find any. The constant nightmares and endless hunting were starting to take their toll on him. Of course he would never admit it to Dean. If he cracked now and showed any sort of weakness, he'd definitely lose any ground he'd gained with his brother since their father had died.

Sam's hand moved over his left side, gently massaging his tightly bandaged rib cage. He winced, knowing he'd further injured them when he'd fallen over some unseen object earlier that evening. Slowly releasing a pent breath, Sam closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his damp hair. Resting both his eyes and his battered body, Sam thought of Sandra's warning. Beliar knew they would come for him. He'd counted on it.

Sam opened his eyes suddenly, realizing he'd stopped for longer than he'd planned. A quick search of the area told him Dean was nowhere to be seen. "Dean," he called as he started walking.

"Dean!" Sam hollered out again after several minutes passed with no word from his older brother. Slowly swinging his flashlight from left to right, Sam realized its futility in such a dense fog. The narrow beam of light reflected the mist, yet did very little in the way of illuminating a clear path.

An abrupt high-pitched screech had him twisting around with gun raised to find where the noise originated from. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.A strong blast of unnaturally chilled air slammed into his chest with such force, it hurled him backwards into the trees. His breath caught in his throat as the wind was knocked out of him.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Sammy winced."Sonuvabitch," he hissed through clenched teeth. Slowly he pulled himself up and leaned back against the tree as he tried to fill his lungs with air. _This night just keeps getting better and better. _

At the sound of a low anguished moan followed by a deep guttural cry of pain directly in front of him, Sam's head snapped back up. A ghostly figure of a girl with blood dripping from her hollowed out eye sockets, crept toward him, hands outstretched. Her fingers, bent and broken as if she'd put up a fight against the demon before finally dying. Twigs and branches clung loosely in her dull flaxen tresses. _Oh, just great. Should have guessed there would be an angry spirit or two hanging around as if hunting a demon isn't enough_.

He knew she had to be one of the girls Beliar had killed and for a brief moment, Sam actually felt sorry for her. Sure she had called upon Beliar, but Sam didn't think she really expected the demon to answer her call. No one ever expected things like this to happen. No, not in their safe little worlds. Nope, it was all sunshine and lollipops for them, leaving the hunters to clean up the mess they'd created out of their own stupidity.

His feelings changed rapidly as she suddenly lunged forward, clawing him with cold, steely fingertips. _"Shit!"_ He exhaled; felt the sting of sharpened nails ripping at his chest. Forcefully, he pushed her away, raised his shotgun and emptied a salt round into her. With a shriek, she disappeared into a mist of black smoke.

Sam quickly assessed the damage. The cuts were bleeding, but didn't appear serious. Of course he knew Dean would be pissed when he saw them. He wouldn't care if they were bad or not. The only thing he'd see was something evil had touched and left a mark on his brother. Then Dean would berate himself for not being there to watch over him.

It was often on the tip of Sam's tongue to tell Dean he'd fought off supernatural beings alone when he was away at college, but he knew he never would. To admit it to his brother would only serve to hurt Dean more. Sam couldn't stomach the thought of seeing the pain in Dean's green eyes and knowing he was once again the cause.

Anyway, how could Sam tell him that when the pressures of college and the feelings of being so cut off from his family had gotten to be too much to bear, he'd reverted to what he knew best. Hunting. He'd escaped his life of hunting with Dean and John searching for normalcy, only to return to it to feel somewhat normal._ Man, how messed up was that? _

A wry smile twisted on his lips as he recalled disappearing from school for days at a time, only to return with various injuries that he'd had a hard time explaining away. A laugh caught in Sam's throat as he thought how his friends had jokingly dubbed him a closet alcoholic. His friend, Zack Warren, had even teased that Sam must have been one mean ass Sonuvabitch when he was drunk, to elicit so many beatings. Zack had even taken upon himself to monitor how much Sam drank when they'd gone out to bars together.

"_Don't want to end up in the hospital again, do ya, dude," Zack said with a wink and a smile as he waved the bartender away, after Sam had had only two beers._

Feeling warm blood seep down his chest, Sam glanced at his favorite T-shirt and realized it was ruined beyond repair. _Damn it! Jess gave this to me for Christmas. Why the hell didn't I change before coming out here to God knows freakin' where to hunt God knows freakin' what. _He ran his fingers over the soft shredded material, recalling how it was the only Christmas where he'd received more than just hunting supplies. _Oh God, Jess_. _Why couldn't I have just let it go and walk away? You'd be alive now if I did. _

Dean had known Sam blamed himself for not heeding the warnings of his nightmares, but he didn't know Sam's guilt stemmed from a much deeper rooted place. A place where his need to hunt was just as virile and deadly as Dean's and his father's. It was his primal desire to hunt and kill that had led to his and Jess' first real fight and it still hurt like hell to think that she'd begged him to open up to her and he'd just stood there and lied.

Several months before her death, Sam had returned from disappearing for several days to find her waiting there for him, eyes red-rimmed from apparent lack of sleep. At first when she had saw him, her face filled with shocked concern, taking in his bruised and battered face, blood-soaked jeans and T-shirt, but then fiery anger sparked in her eyes. She'd demanded to know the truth behind his irregular disappearances.

When Sam didn't respond, she'd stormed off to his room, only to return a few minutes later carrying his hunting bag. "Tell me what you use all these weapons for," she'd demanded, throwing the bag at his feet.

Angrily, he'd bent down and snatched up his gear, hefting it over his shoulder. "I can't believe you went through my stuff."

"I didn't go through your stuff, Sam," she'd said as close to tears as he'd ever seen her. "You left the bag open on the bed and I saw what was inside."

At the sight of her soft eyes, lashes wet with unspent tears, Sam lowered his voice, taking on the placating tone he'd used so often with Dean when he was injured or in a mood. "Jess, it's just hunting gear." It wasn't exactly a lie, he'd tried to reassure himself. It just wasn't a complete truth either. Nonetheless, he'd still felt horrible. "When I . . . whenever I miss my brother, I go hunting." He had turned away from her then, not wanting her to see how much he missed Dean. Always missed Dean. No matter how much he'd loved her, somewhere deep down, Sam knew that she could never fill the void that he'd, himself had created when he walked out on Dean without looking back.

Sam had wiped away a tear that threatened to fall down his cheek with the back of his hand. "It just doesn't hurt as much when I know somewhere he is out there too hunting some," he caught himself before he'd said a demon, "some thing."

After that night, Jess had never complained again when he'd disappeared. Yet, he'd sensed her growing concern as he went missing for longer periods of time and worried over his increasing nightmares when he'd come home to her.

The problem was that evil seemed to be drawing ever closer to him. The more he hunted, the more things there were to hunt. It was as if he'd opened a hell-storm in Palo Alto and didn't know how to close it back up, without calling Dean to come and rescue him yet again, and he just couldn't bring himself to do that.

Then miraculously Dean appeared out of the blue to tell him that John had gone missing. And although Sam knew he'd appeared outwardly angry at his brother, deep down he was grateful for a chance to escape from the mess he'd created even if it were just for a few days.

Then Jess had died -- the same way as their mother. _That was my fault. Mine. It wouldn't have found me if I could have just stopped hunting. I brought evil into her world. If it hadn't been for me, she'd still be alive. It wouldn't have found her. _

Sam sighed deeply, pushing the painful memories back into the darkened recesses of his mind so he could concentrate on the one thing that mattered now -- finding Dean. Cradling his flashlight under the crook of his arm, Sam swiped the damp sheen of mist and sweat from his brow. He then thrust himself away from the tree, and headed westward.

Sam knew he needed to stay focused. Dwelling on lies from his past and present was a very dangerous thing to do when confronting the very demon who elicited them. But the harder he'd tried to push them into the murky depths of his soul, the more they'd swelled to the surface.

He found himself recalling even stupid little lies like the time he'd accidentally broken his father's watch. He'd blamed it on his brother, knowing full well that Dean would accept the blame rather then have him get in trouble.

A sudden gust of wind, bristled through the trees, scattering dried dead leaves. On the breeze he could hear a voice, soft and deceptive. _"Liar,"_ it whispered seductively over and over again. The voice grew increasingly louder until it filled the expanse of the forest, crushing Sam with the weight of one single word. Excruciating pain ripped through his head, forcing him to his knees.

"_Oh God . . . Make it stop!"_ he cried out, closing his eyes tightly, he dropped his gun and cradled his head against the onslaught of overwhelming agony.

"I'm afraid you are asking the wrong person for help," came a soft voice from directly above him. Momentarily, Sam wondered if it wasn't a delusion brought on by the pain. "Ah, hell, I'm feeling in a bit of a generous mood, so why not," the voice murmured and the pain disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"Huh, and here I thought they said you were the smart one. Whom do you think I am?"

Sam thought about it for a moment, his scattered mind desperately trying to grasp on to whom he was dealing with and then it struck him. "Beliar."

"Hmm . . . I prefer Belial, but you're close enough. And you're Sam Winchester. I must confess that I've waited a long time to meet you."

Sam glanced up at the demon. He'd seen people possessed by demons before: Meg, the man on the airplane, however he'd never seen one in its natural state. His breath caught in his throat as utter awe overwhelmed him. To think of a demon as beautiful was nearly beyond comprehension, but he couldn't think of another word to describe the evil creature.

His face, purely angelic with skin as pale and smooth as fine porcelain. Thick dark lashes framed his glistening black eyes. Long black hair swept down past his shoulders and came to rest just above his broad chest. Dark gray wings arched high above his head, fanning outward till they touched the ground.

When he noticed Sam staring, he laughed. "What is it they say? A face of beauty to hide – ah well, you get the gist."

"If you're so damn beautiful then why are you hiding behind all this fog?"

"Oh, this," he said, gesturing around at the all-encompassing mists. "I didn't create this . . . something else was trying to hide you and your brother from me. I'm sure you heard her humming her sweet . . . little . . . lullaby, as if she thought I wouldn't be able to sense you through this fog." He paused for a moment, his features hardening. His dark eyes scanned the thick fog in search of whatever he thought was out there, trying to protect them. When he failed to find anything, he returned his attention to Sam. "It seems as if her mist was trying to cover a multitude of sins. Got anything you'd care to share?" He smirked.

"No. Not much in the caring and sharing mood right now, thanks" Sam said with a slight shake of his head. He tried to stand, but the demon lowered his hand and Sam found it all but impossible to move.

"No, I prefer you just as you are for now," the demon said, waving a delicate finger at Sam. "We big bad ass demons are like that, we enjoy people groveling at our feet. Makes us feel important."

Teeth clenched and neck muscles pulled tautly, Sam let out a low growl, pressing with all his strength in a vain effort to stand and fight. The harder he tried, the closer the demon drove his face toward the ground.

"Let go of me," Sam hissed, nostrils flaring. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"Huh, sure you are," Belial taunted. "Everyone is afraid their past lies will finally catch up with them . . . well, here I am."

"So why don't you just kill me and get it over with? Why play these stupid little games?"

"Now where would be the fun it that?" Belial said with a deceptive smile as he sauntered over and knelt next to Sam. "Besides, I really rather enjoy tormenting people . . . what can I say, it's in my nature." He raised his hand and placed it, fingers outstretched, on Sam's head.

Sam's eyelids fluttered wildly as flashes of every lie, secret, betrayal, burst of rage, outward show of arrogance, defiance, lust and outright sense of pride he'd ever experienced, magnified itself a hundredfold inside his brain. He screamed in agony as they assaulted his mind. _Oh, God, please make it stop! I can't take it!_ _Just make it stop!_

He couldn't bear the pain. It seared his senses; excruciating jabs tore at his eyes. He felt warm blood on his cheeks. _Oh, Christ! It's me doing this . . . I have to make it stop. _With strength he didn't realize he possessed, Sam willed his fingers to stop gouging at his eyes, and instead curled them tightly around his hair.

"You can't make me do this!" he spat at the demon. "I won't let you!"

"Hmm . . . seems as if I already did. Now doesn't it?"

Belial touched Sam's chin lightly and raised the boy's face, turning it to assess the damage. "Man, that must have hurt like hell." He stood and with fingertips still beneath Sam's chin, Belial dragged him to his feet and lifted him off the ground.

"What are you — "

"Shhh. . . ." He gently placed his index finger on Sam's lips before tracing a path upward to cover his eyes. "Just a bit more darkness is needed."

Sam's head shot backward in a desperate effort to free himself from the demon's steely grasp. Strange indistinct whispers filled his ears, growing louder with each passing moment. Pain ripped through his eyes, blinding him to everything but the demon and darkness. His stomach churned violently in protest. Vile tasting bile rose and caught in his throat as his head felt like it was being split in two.

"Now for your brother."

"He . . . he wouldn't let you hurt him," Sam gasped. "He's too strong."

"Ah, a challenge. I like that. Would you care to make a wager? Your soul perhaps?"

"Go to Hell, you Sonuvabitch!"

"Been there, nice place. The weather's warm all year round . . . care to visit?" When Sam didn't respond, Belial had the audacity to laugh. "I'll take that as a no then."

Before Sam could think to react, the demon threw him backwards through the air. Sam slammed into a tree, full force. Searing pain ripped through his upper chest. A pain-filled cry escaped Sam's lips as he grasped for his shoulder. Instead, his trembling fingers clutched a jagged tree limb, at least three inches around, protruding from a gaping hole.

Horrified to discover the branch was still attached to the tree, Sam valiantly struggled to free himself, only managing to cause even more pain. "Gahh . . . Come on dammit!"He pushed even harder, refusing to give up until blood oozed from beneath the wooden spear. He cried out as wave after wave of pain racked his body.

Belial sauntered toward him, knelt down and rested his arm on the tree limb, forcing it downward with his weight. He chuckled when Sam choked out a sob. "Splinters are always such a bitch, aren't they?"

"Get the hell away from me!" Sam snarled through clenched teeth.

"Ah, very well. You've seemed to have lost your sense of humor anyway." He stood and glanced down at Sam pinned to the tree, and smiled. "Do try and stick around, wouldn't want you to miss out on what plans I have in store for your brother."

"He'll send you back to where you belong."

Belial shrugged. "Perhaps, but not before I've killed you and driven him mad. It's a fair exchange. Besides there will always be someone willing to call me back so I can finish your brother off. But who will care if you are gone?"

Belial rose, stepped away from Sam and spread his wings as if ready to take flight. His black eyes shimmered then burned crimson. Slowly, he raised both hands high in the air, his head falling backward momentarily. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air. The demon's head snapped forward so he could stare directly into Sam's eyes, silently daring him to look away. Sam met his menacing gaze full on, never blinking even when Belial disappeared in an explosion of flames.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

"Sam!" Dean hollered. He turned abruptly with shotgun raised and aimed toward the sound of twigs cracking somewhere off to his right. The muscle in his jaw ticked ominously as he peered into the darkened forest.Lifting his flashlight, he directed it toward the trees but couldn't see anything beyond the unusually dense fog swirling ghostlike about him.

All around him, he could hear the sound of a woman softly humming and no matter how far he traveled through the forest, her haunting melody persisted. Dean swung around suddenly, feeling gentle fingers on his shoulder and saw a woman haloed in pale golden light staring at him. He aimed his shotgun at her, ready to fire, but when he looked into her sparkling blue-green eyes, all thought of harming her left him. He was about to say something, but she covered his mouth with her index finger.

"Shhh . . . Dean," she whispered in his ear. Then she placed her hands on either side of his headlowering it so she could gently kiss him on the forehead.She stepped back away from him, the mist enshrouding her. "You and your brother never should have come here. You keep too many secrets, tell too many lies . . . he could destroy you both," she warned before disappearing into the fog.

"Sammy . . . where the hell are you!" he called out, never taking his eyes off the spot where he'd seen the ghostly woman. The clear warning in her voice still echoing through his mind_. Damn it! First demons and now spirits. As if this night couldn't get any worse. Why the hell didn't I make Sammy stay in the car? Christ, his ribs are barely healed from hunting that damn vampire and he insists he's fine. _"I swear, Sammy, if you re-injure your ribs, I'm not going to be the one to haul you to the car this time!"

Mentally, he berated himself for not keeping a better eye on his younger brother as grotesque images flashed before his eyes. Visions of Sam's broken, blood-slathered body curled in a fetal position with eyes darkly haunting as if close to death.

"Sammy, you had better be close to death if you're not answering or I'm gonna kill ya!"

When the thick, unnatural fog rolled in, enveloping them in its menacingly silent embrace, he'd warned Sam to stick close. Sammy rolled his eyes and gave him the _'I'm not a baby' _look.

"_I'm not an idiot, Dean . . . I've been doing this almost as long as you and think I can handle myself." _It was the last thing Sammy had said to him before he'd disappeared.

Lately, Sam had taken exception to Dean's need to protect him from all things' evil, brooding for days afterwards if Dean tried to step in and help him. Dean couldn't put a finger on exactly when the change had occurred, maybe it was after their hunt at the Roosevelt Asylum or perhaps after they'd found their father only to have him drive off and leave them. Then again, maybe it was a gradual change happening so slowly that Dean hadn't even noticed. _Who do I think I am kidding?_

_He changed after the accident . . . after dad died._

Dean recalled during one particularly nasty argument, Sam had told him that if he'd been so damn worried about protecting him, why the hell did he track him down at college to go out on a hunt again. And then further added that if he wasn't off hunting with Dean, Jess would still be alive. That stung. It was the closest Sammy had ever come to blaming him for Jess' death.

Of course, Sammy apologized afterwards, assuring him that he hadn't meant to make it sound like he blamed him for her death. Dean forgave him. That was his life. That was just what he did . . . that was what he always did when the people in his life unthinkingly hurt him. It was better not to think about it or verbalize his own feelings. No one could hurt him if he built a wall to hold in all the hurt caused by those he cared for most.

It had been far too long since he'd last heard his brother's voice and he knew there were demons and spirits still lurked just out of sight, taunting him. Invisible to the eye, the demon screeched from what seemed like everywhere all at once, making it all but impossible to pinpoint exactly where it was.

Dean picked up his pace, trampling through overgrown brush, shotgun raised, alert for any noise or possible danger. The problem was in the dense mist, everything appeared ominous to him. Tree branches slapped his face and grasped at his leather jacket with bony skeletal fingers. Spectral eyes of what could've been demons or just as easily creatures of the forest, loomed in every direction. Low guttural growls met his ears, reminding him he definitely wasn't alone. And although he'd never liked the idea of being alone he'd definitely make an exception in this case.

After what seemed like forever, Dean stopped, turned and peered around, not certain where he was. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was going in circles. Everything appeared exactly the same. Everywhere, all he could see were trees, rocks and the unending fog. No Sammy.

His stomach clenched in knots which pulled tighter and tighter while he stood helplessly searching for any signs of his brother. _'Damn it Sammy! Where the hell are you?' _

As if to answer his unasked question, he heard a stifled sounding moan off to his left.His body instinctively flexed, his fingers tightened around the barrel of the shotgun, immediately reverting to hunt mode. _"Sam . . . Sammy is that you?_" Dean called out trying not to sound worried.

"Dean?" came a raspily shouted reply.

Relief washed over Dean with that one simple word. Sammy was okay. He hadn't lost him. "Yeah Sammy, I'm here, dude . . . just stay where you are, I'll come to you."

"Yeah, that's not gonna be a pro-blem," Sam's voice hitched as he tried to suppress a cry of pain. "I'm kinda stuck, Dean."

"Don't worry Sammy, I'm coming."

"Dean. Hurry!"

At the sheer sound of panic in Sammy's voice, Dean started running, blasting through trees, around boulders, and over rotted logs at breakneck speed. His mind raced ahead, terrified of what he'd find when he finally spotted his little brother. _Hold on Sammy . . . I'm almost there._

He paused briefly to get his bearings and noticed a small beam of light coming from a grouping of trees to his right. Sammy's flashlight. He'd found him. With a determined expression, he ran the rest of the way. Nothing was going to prevent him from saving his little brother.

Sulfur, strong and pungent assailed his senses. Swallowing hard, his stomach lurched threateningly. The demon had to be close by. Dean narrowed his eyes and scanned the darkened recesses, only stopping when he saw Sammy. Sam crouched up against the tree, his head hung low. His left arm protectively cradled his shoulder. Dean heard the soft muffled sound of crying and it nearly broke his heart.

Slowly, fearing what he'd find, Dean sidled over to him. "Hey there, Sammy," he said calmly, not wanting to frighten him any further then he already appeared.

"I-I can't make it stop Dean . . . can't make it go away. It's in my head and I can't make it go away."

Whatever Dean thought to expect, it wasn't this. He dropped to his knees, beside his brother. "Can't make what go away, Sammy?"

"It's a noise — it's — it's a noise in my head and I can't make it go away." Sam's face suddenly contorted in pain. His head shot back, slamming into the tree forcefully. "Oh God, Dean! Make it stop! Please!" He was about smash his head into the tree again, but Dean catapulted forward, wrapped his arm around Sam's neck and cradled him to his chest.

"It's okay Sammy. Let's just get you back to the Impala and then we'll figure this out."

"I can't, Dean. I'm stuck." It was said with such a desperate childlike voice Dean's heart caught in his throat.

"What do you mean?"

"The tree, Dean. I'm stuck to the tree," Sam moaned as he clutched his head. His fingers curled tightly around his hair.

Dean pulled away from him, lifted his flashlight and pointed it directly at Sam. He looked like a human shishkibob, with the spear like limb sticking out of his chest just below his right shoulder. Blood and flesh clung sickeningly to the jagged end of the branch. More blood seeped from beneath Sam's wound, soaking his T-shirt.

Dean swept the flashlight upward and saw slashing gouge marks on Sam's eyelids and cheeks, blood covering his tear streaked face. It took all the strength, Dean possessed not to crumble. His stomach churned violently. Eyes burning with unspent tears, Dean tore his sight away from his brother and lowered his head, fearing if Sammy saw the look of horror on his face, he'd completely lose it.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Dean said, realizing how high-pitched and strained his own voice sounded.

"What?" Sammy mumbled, his head lulled to the side, with eyes still closed tightly against the pain.

"Easy there, Tiger, stay with me."

"Huh?" Sam's eyelids fluttered open. "Dean?"

"Yeah, right here, Sammy."

"Dean."

Dean didn't think he could bear hearing the sound of utter desolation, in his little brother's voice. It tore at his insides to see him so close to losing it completely."What Sammy?"

"Can you turn on your flashlight, dude? It's so dark."

Dean's head shot up and followed the shaft of light that fell across Sam's face, leaving half of it in shadow. He raised the flashlight and shined it in his brother's face. Eyes, black and unseeing gazed back at him. _Oh Christ! What did that thing do to you? _

He let out the pent breath, he didn't even know he was holding. How could he tell his brother he was blind? The simple answer was he couldn't.

"Broke my flashlight back there on the trail." He gestured back in the direction he'd just come from then mentally kicked himself for doing such a stupid thing. "Tripped over something and it fell and broke." The lie slipped effortlessly from his tongue. Better to not tell him right now. He reassured himself. Not when he is already a wreck.

Not wanting Sammy to be all alone in the dark, Dean flipped off the flashlight, casting the forest into almost complete darkness. The only light now coming from Sammy's flashlight about ten feet away. He knew it was stupid. It wasn't like he couldn't turn it back on at any given moment, but he'd felt so damn helpless he didn't know what else to do.

Suddenly, Sam's body arched forward, writhing against the wooden spear, struggling in vain desperation to free himself. He cried out in agony as more blood spilled from his chest. Finally he gave up. His body slumped against the tree. "Oh God, Dean! My head is splitting in two!" His fingers gripped and tightened around his hair, palms digging into his eyes. "I can't take it . . . it's so damn loud . . . and I can't think . . . can't think. Why won't it go away?"

"I don't know, Sammy," he said with a shake of his head. "But I_ swear_ to God, I'll find a way to fix this or I'll die trying."

Dean knew what he needed to do first. He had to break the limb holding Sam pinned to the tree. Experience told Dean he couldn't pull Sam free without risking even greater, and potentially fatal, injury. But breaking the limb was easier said then done, knowing the force it'd take to snap the damn thing, would definitely cause his brother more pain.

"Sammy. I have to free you." He hesitated, not liking the idea one bit, but then press forward, "An' I ain't gonna lie to you, man, it's gonna hurt like a Sonuvabitch."

"Just do it, Dean."

Slowly, Dean rose, hating himself for what he was about to do. "You gotta lean forward for me and hold tightly to that limb." Flipping on his flashlight, Dean took a look at the narrow space between Sam and the tree, and swore under his breath. "Dude, you have to promise me you wouldn't let go of that damn thing or it will rip through your chest."

"Yeah, Dean. I won't let go," came a tired sounding reply. "Promise me something."

"Sure, Sammy."

"No chick-flick moments when I start balling like a baby, okay?"

A laugh caught in Dean's throat. "Gotcha. Now on the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!" Before he changed his mind, he raised his foot and slammed it down hard against the limb. He heard a loud, sickening crack. For a moment he wasn't sure if it was the branch or bones he'd heard snapping. The sound of it almost being drowned by Sam screams.

"Sam!" He dropped to his knees and caught his brother just as he lurched forward unconscious. Carefully, Dean lifted and repositioned his brother so he was lying on his left side, his head resting against Dean's shoulder.

"I gotcha Sammy," he whispered, pushing stray locks of his brother's unruly, long brown hair out of his face. His skin felt feverish and damp beneath Dean's hand."You just rest a bit. I won't let anything hurt you again."

His fingers lightly brushed against Sam's ear. Instantly, he pulled them back feeling something sticky and warm. Blood. His ear drums must have burst, or at least that is what he'd hoped not wanting to imagine what else might cause his brother's ears to bleed. What kind of noise was going on inside his head that was strong enough to cause his ear drums to burst?

"Come on, Sammy. I gotta get you outta here and to a hospital." Dean gently shook him. Sam moaned softly but refused to wake up."It's okay, Sammy, I'll carry ya outta here, if I have to."

Dean bit at his lower lip, his eyes narrowing as he tried to think how far it was to the Impala. The thick fog had caused him to backtrack several times, so in all honesty, he couldn't be certain how long it would take to find his way back.

Dean scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out the best way to carry Sam without injuring him further. Once determined, Dean stood and hitched his fingers into Sam's belt loop, and cautiously pulled him to his feet. Sam swayed precariously, his knees buckling as Dean leaned him against a tree.

"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean took a deep breath, bent down and hoisted Sam over his shoulders, careful not move Sam's injured chest more than he had to. Readjusting Sam's lanky frame over his now tautly strained muscles, Dean began the slow and arduous trek back to the Impala.

The uneven ground, muddy and slick from the previous rainfall, caused Dean to stumble twice, before he'd finally left the copse of trees where he'd found his brother. Dean never looked

back . . . never noticed two sets of eyes watching his labored movements. One pair, sorrowful and full of regret. The other, triumphant.

After walking in the dense fog for nearly a half an hour, the wind pushing hard against his back, the whole way, Dean paused to shift Sam's weight over his aching shoulders. Dean heard the sound of the spirit's voice humming once more. He couldn't tell exactly where the sound of her voice was coming from or if he'd been going in circles. But as she sang the mist rolled back away from the trail and he saw a beacon of pale golden light shining off in the distance.

Dean peered at the light, wondering if it were some sort of trick or if he was close to the road. Deciding to risk it, he headed toward the light. The thick forest ended abruptly, the muddy trail he'd traveled turning to loose gravel beneath his feet. Dean stopped short and stared incredulously at his car. The headlights were on.

"Dean," came a softly whispered voice from behind him.

Dean swung around and saw a beautiful woman standing at the edge of the woods. Her long chestnut tresses blew wildly about her face in the breeze. She brushed away the strands while she gazed at him. Their eyes locked and then in an instant, she was at his side. She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I will be here when you return . . . I will watch over him till then." She stepped back away from Dean and disappeared into the mist.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Angelina Sera balanced her coffee and clipboard in one hand and pushed the hospital door open with the other. The steaming hot liquid spilled down the sides of the cup burning her fingers, but she scarcely noticed as she took in the scene before her.

A young man in his late twenties sat on a chair leaning forward to rest his head, on the stark white pillow, next to his brother's. One arm lay protectively around his brother's chest and the other cradled the younger boy's head. The younger man's deathly pale skin stood in sharp contrast to his brother's healthy complexion.

Her eyes strayed to the beeping heart monitor for a moment. A sad frown settled on her face as she returned her attention to the two men, feeling like an unwelcome intruder. The older man certainly didn't need to hear more bad news, but she'd been sent for a reason. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room and slipped on what appeared to be a salt trail across the threshold. Coffee splashed over the sides of her cup and spilled onto the moss green tiled flooring and soaked up into the white crystals. Angelina stared down at the damp mess for a moment then sidestepped it and sauntered over to the bed.

Although the older man tried to appear as if he were sleeping, she knew he wasn't. She'd witnessed his back stiffening when he'd heard the door creak open. She cleared her throat, gaining his attention. Green eyes, haloed in thick dark lashes, met her steady gaze. "I thought Mr. Wesson wasn't to have any visitors. It says so right here on his chart." She pointed at her clipboard.

The muscle in his cheek ticked ominously in clear warning. "Then you had better call in a SWAT team, cause anything short of my death will not have me moving from this spot." His eyes narrowed, challenging her to try and call for someone to remove him.

She smiled at the devotion she clearly saw in the young man's face, and realized he meant every word he'd said. She wasn't sure at first, but now she knew for certain that they were right to send her here. If she couldn't save the young man then no one could. "You don't have to leave Mr. Wesson. In fact, I would have been worried if you weren't at your brother's side."

His features relaxed slightly. "Dean. My name is Dean."

"Okay, Dean it is then. My name is Doctor Angelina Sera." She exaggerated a yawn for his benefit and motioned toward a chair at the far corner of the room. "Could you get that chair for me? I hadn't realized how late it was and quite frankly, I'm exhausted." A stifled laugh caught in her throat when his brow arched quizzically. "My job keeps me going from sun up until well past dark. It seems there is always someone in need of my help," she added as he stood and went to retrieve the chair for her.

He brought it back and set it down next to his own. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm more of a specialist, Dean."

"Huh, I should have known. You're a shrink."

She laughed. "Not exactly, Dean, although most people usually do end up telling me all their problems. Guess it's because of my winning personality."

Angelina sidled up alongside the hospital bed, and glanced down at the young man lying in it. Beneath Sam's closed eyelids, his eyes darted back and forth. Every now and again, his body twitched and gave a slight involuntary jerk. She lowered Sam's hospital gown and noticed the bandage on his chest was tinged crimson. "How long has he been like this?"

"Two days. Ever since I the accident."

Angelina frowned. Biting at her lower lip, she tentatively brushed her hand across Sam's cool, clammy skin. Sam shuddered violently, and blood dripped from his nose. Angelina grabbed for the box of tissues on the table next to the bed and wiped it away. "And the nosebleeds?"

"The same."

She was about to peel back his eyelid to check his pupils when she felt Dean's warm breath on the back of her neck. Without turning around, she said, "I am just checking Sam over, Dean. I swear I wouldn't hurt him."

Dean's body tensed as if he wasn't sure what he should do, then he suddenly relaxed and moved to her side. Angelina lifted Sam's eyelids and his fully dilated, hazel eyes, rolled backwards. She then pressed her fingernail into his nail bed, noticing his eyes flutter open briefly in response to pain. She continued her assessment, mentally noting his responses to painful stimuli. "Sam can you hear me? Wake up, Sammy, your brother is here and he needs you," she called out to him when she'd finished. Nothing. No response.

Angelina slumped down into the chair, wondering how to broach the subject of Sam's coma with Dean. It would kill him to know the truth, and she didn't think she could bear to see the shattered look in his eyes. Yet, from everything she'd learned about Dean, Angelina knew he would do whatever it took to save his brother, but would it be enough this time? And if it wasn't enough, how would he be able to live with himself.

With regret, she realized what she would have to do. _Knock them down to build them back up. _It was the motto she'd lived by. It had always given her the strength she needed to do a horrible job. But, could Dean withstand any more pain?

"Well?" Dean asked.

"By medical standards, I would have to say Sam is in a coma. He doesn't respond to verbal commands and his eyes and body only respond to painful stimuli."

"But you don't think that is the case?"

Angelina gestured toward his face and said, "Do you see how his eyes are darting back and forth beneath his eyelids?"

"Yeah."

"It's called rapid eye movement. It occurs when a person is in REM sleep. And it is generally acknowledged that people in comas don't reach REM sleep, let alone sustain it for the amount of time your brother has."

"So you're trying to tell me my brother is just sleeping?"

"Pretty much."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd been told by other doctors that Sam was in a coma. Now here was this woman telling him his brother was only sleeping. And as he stared into her deep sea green eyes, he wanted more than anything to believe her. Yet, from everything he'd heard so far, it really didn't seem likely.

"What do your instincts tell you, Dean?" She leaned forward, resting both hands on her knees, and stared up at him.

It was a weird question coming from a doctor who was supposed to know about treating someone under these circumstances, and it caught Dean off guard. Without thinking, he almost blurted out, _that demon did something to him_, but quickly changed it to, "I don't know. The other doctors seem to think— "

"I'm not asking what the doctors' think, Dean. I already know that. I wanted to know what you think?" When he failed to speak, she added, "How does an otherwise healthy young man with no detectable head injury slip into a coma? The simple answer is that he doesn't."

Angelina's gentle but demanding eyes, and soft pleading voice unnerved Dean. It felt as if she were invading his mind, searching for the answers he refused to give. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to tell her the truth. He thought of Andy who had used his psychic powers to persuade people into doing what he'd wanted. Sammy had been immune to Andy's psychic powers, but Dean had found himself rambling on like a gossipy school girl, spouting off about hunting demons, Sammy's visions and fears that the demon had terrible plans for all of them.

The spiraling feeling in his stomach told him she was somehow involved in whatever plans the demon had for Sammy, and he'd rarely been wrong whereas demons were concerned. He moved to stand protectively in front of his brother and jerked a finger toward the door. "I don't know, but I think maybe you should leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." Angelina shook her head as she stood. Strands of glossy chestnut hair fell loosely over her eyes. She brushed them away as she began to hum an eerily beautiful melody. Dean made an effort to move, but his legs wouldn't budge and as he tried to speak, he found he couldn't. Her feather light fingers gently stroked his face and he felt his body go slack beneath her touch. Slowly, the sound filled the dimly lit room and Dean's mind. He'd heard it before, in a time and place he could only scarcely remember in dreams. A sad smile crossed his features, recalling how his mother had hummed the same haunting lullaby to Sammy when he was a baby. His heart ached with the pain of remembering something so innocent. Something not touched and defiled by evil. Oddly enough, he now realized it was also the same song, he'd in the forest two days before.

Angelina fingers traced a path upward and across his eyelids, leaving them to rest there. The image of his mother suddenly vanished as flashes of all the pain, sadness, loneliness, fear, anguish, self-loathing, and lack of self-worth Dean had ever felt washed over him in tidal force. His knees buckled, but her touch kept him standing. Tears fell unchecked down his cheeks as he valiantly tried to push the painful memories back down inside of himself. And just when he thought he couldn't stand the sight of his own weaknesses any longer, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips and it all disappeared. The feelings replaced by something so intangible Dean couldn't put a name to it.

"That was you in the forest, wasn't it?" Dean asked when he finally regained his composure.

"Yes, Dean. It was me." Angelina stepped back, raised her hand and Dean's feet lifted off the ground. She then proceeded around him and bent down to caress Sam's cheek. His face instinctively leaned into her hand and his features relaxed. "He is sleeping peacefully now. The nightmares and horrors chased away . . . but I fear they will return all too soon."

"Don't you hurt him!" Dean hissed through clenched teeth. He thrashed around wildly, trying to break the hold she had on him to no avail. "If you harm him any way. I swear to God, I'll kill you!"

She turned to him and laughed. With a flick of her wrist, he fell to the ground in a heap. "I didn't come here to hurt you or your brother. I came to help."

"What kind of demon are you?" Dean scrambled to his feet with a hand behind his back retrieving the gun from his waistband. He leveled it on her chest, his finger on the trigger.

She eyed the gun momentarily then smiled. "Why is it that you automatically assume that if something is supernatural it is evil?"

"Um, I don't know, a lifetime of experience maybe."

"Look, Dean, there are other things out there in the world besides demons and hunters. Good things. Pure things."

"Certainly could've fooled me."

"It is our job to protect those things," she went on to say as if she hadn't heard him. "To keep the balance, so to speak. And we need you, Dean. You and your brother, Sam."

"You didn't protect my family." His eyes glistened and blurred with tears. His fingers shook on the trigger, wanting nothing more than to shoot her and be done with it. Yet, something made him stop. He released his hold on the trigger and lowered the gun to his side.

"I'm sorry about your family, Dean. I can't bring them back, but I can help save Sam."

"How?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," she said motioning for him to sit beside her. She watched the wary expression overcome his face. His body tensed, the muscles in his shoulders flexing against his gray T-shirt. "You have to trust me, Dean. I can't help you if you refuse to show a little faith."

"Kinda feelin' a little short on faith, at the present moment."

Angelina sighed, feeling more tired than she dare let on to the young man standing before her. If he saw any sign of weakness in her now, she would lose him. She had to convince him or else she would fail and that was simply not an option. "You see, Dean, my kind, not unlike demons, thrive off of emotions."She lowered her head as she saw him struggle to come to terms with what she had just said. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "However, unlike our demon brothers, we focus on the good: faith, purity, honesty, trust, selflessness, and the willingness to lay down your life for another. We search these things out and we protect them."

"So your telling me that you're some kind of angel?"

"A Seraphim."

"And that is?" Dean shrugged, arching a brow in confusion.

Angelina laughed at his total lack of knowledge whereas she was concerned. "Boy, for someone who knows a heck of a lot about the supernatural, you're kind of an idiot when it comes to the higher order of things, aren't you?" She suppressed another chuckle when his features darkened, a scowl forming on his lips. Apparently Dean Winchester didn't like feeling stupid. "I'll make this easy for you. Let's just say that if I was in the military, I would be a four star general and an angel would be a private. Does that clear things up?"

"So you must've drawn the short stick then," Dean said, and finally took a seat beside her.

"Why is that?"

"To be harnessed to the likes of me and Sammy. You must be busy all the time."

"Why do you think I'm so exhausted?"

Dean grinned, his eyes and features softening, and Angelina caught a glimpse of the boy he had once been before evil had settled in over his life and took hold. She'd seen his body bruised and broken more times than she cared to think about, and had given him the will to stand and fight further when his strength was at an end, but was it fair to him? No, it wasn't. He had given so much and asked for so little in return and now she was here asking him to go further. A necessary casualty, they'd called him, but as she watched over him endlessly, Angelina couldn't help but be angry at the life he'd lost.

"Dean."

"Yeah."

"I am sorry I had to show you all your weaknesses. I know how hard it is for you to keep burying them so you can do your job and survive."

"Yeah, well, that so sucked, but I'm okay."

"The thing is that I did it for a reason. Can you possibly imagine if that feeling was multiplied nearly a hundredfold?"

"No."

"Well, your brother can."

"You've got to be kidding me?" Dean said incredulously, staring down at his brother's motionless body. He recalled Sam's anguished voice pleading with him to stop the noise inside his head.

"No, I'm not."

"Well, what do I have to do to save him?"

"That's the hard part, Dean. When Belial used his dark magic on Sam, the pain was too powerful to withstand. Your brother's mind . . . fractured."

"Fractured?"

"Split . . . there is the Sam you see here laying in the hospital bed and. . . ." Angelina's voice trailed off as she took Dean's hand in hers'.

"And what?" Dean demanded as he pushed her hand away and lifted her chin so she looked him square in the eyes.

"And the one who believes he murdered you, and now is dying alone in the forest."

It took a moment for the realization of what she'd just said to sink in, then Dean was on his feet in a shot, and at his brother's side. His chair slammed backward to the ground with a loud bang, but Dean scarcely noticed as he stared down at Sam's closed eyes and tightly clenched jaw.

He'd sat at Sam's side for two days thinking he was protecting him, while in reality, Belial had been torturing his brother's soul back in the forest all that time. Sam had needed him, and he'd failed him miserably. Dean went to touch Sam's face, but pulled back, lowered his head and wished for about the millionth time that his father was here instead of him. His father would have known something was wrong. John wouldn't have needed some else to tell him. Sam would have been safe and the demon gone if it hadn't been for him. Ashamed and brokenhearted, he murmured, "What do I have to do?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Sam wasn't sure where he was when he finally woke. His eyes fluttered opened, but it was so damn dark, he couldn't see two feet in front of him. The earthy aroma of fresh rainfall and damp leaves filled the air. Beneath him, the ground was cold and wet. His clothes were drenched and his hair clung in thick damp clumps around his face. He was outside, but where? And where was Dean?

"Dean!" Sam hoarsely called out. No response. "Where the hell are you, Dean?"

Sam shivered as the memory of something important bristled at the back of his mind; something he knew he should remember. It left him feeling cold and hollow inside, his soul aching with sadness and regret. He'd done something . . . hurt someone. But who?

Stark, ravenous pain ripped through his forehead as the recollections in his mind formed into a myriad of pictures and sensations crashing around him with torrential force. Blood dripped from his nose. Sam doubled over fighting against the bile rising in his throat. His palms dug into his eyes trying to erase the horrible images of what he'd done. . . .

"_Sammy, why didn__'t you answer me?__" Dean called out as his brother stepped into the circular clearing of trees. Squinting, Dean focused green eyes on Sammy__'s dark image. He turned his flashlight toward Sam and Sam lowered his head to the side, away from the offending light._

"_I didn__'t hear you,__" he lied. Eyeing Dean__'s .45 warily, Sam__'s grip tightened on the knife he concealed. His own shotgun rested at his side with his finger on the trigger. __"So where have you been?__"_

"_Um, searching all over this damn forest for you, geek boy.__" Dean lowered his gun and brushed his hand through his scruffy hair. __"Damn, Sammy, I think there is more than just demons running around this forest.__"_

"_Really, what makes you think that?__" Sam replied, his voice oddly lacking emotion._

_Dean__'s steps faltered as he watched his brother. Cocking his head to the right side, his brows knit closely together. He stood and stared at Sam for a moment before asking, __"What__'s wrong with your voice?__"_

"_Think I__'m catching a cold.__" Sam took a step toward him, his glinting black eyes averted. __"What did you mean by other things?__"_

_Dean bit at his lower lip as he seemed to consider what he__'d heard, then nodded. __"I don__'t know, some sort of spirit or siren.__"_

"_Did she try to hurt you?__" Sam took another step, his fingers gingerly caressing the hilt of his blade before he put it in his pocket. His fingers touched the rosary he carried and for a moment he hesitated, his eyes flickering hazel. Instinctively, he tried to grab hold of it . . . to hold onto himself, but it was as if his fingers had a will of their own and his hand jerked back out of his pocket. In an instant, Sam__'s hazel eyes darkened to ebony. _

"_Actually, she tried to warn me.__"_

"_About what?__" _

"_The Demon . . . She said, we should never have come here, that Belial would destroy us both.__"_

_Sam stopped short, releasing a pent breath. His dark penetrating gaze lingered on Dean__'s downcast eyes briefly, then lowered his head to stare at the .45 Dean held in a firm grip at his side. __"And you believed her?__" _

"_I don__'t know, Sammy,__" Dean admitted, scratching the back of his head. __"I guess so. I mean she didn__'t even try to hurt me.__"_

"_Hmm . . . that__'s new. You never listen to what I say.__"_

"_Why are you gettin__' so girlie on me all of the sudden? Is it that time of the month?__" He smirked._

_Sam ignored him. __"Oh, I don__'t know, maybe cause I told you, I thought it was a bad idea to hunt Belial until we knew more about him. But as usual, you were all kill now ask questions later.__" _

_The sound of twigs snapping to the left and low moaning, caught Dean__'s attention. He squinted, scanning the area for any signs of a demon before he returned his attention to his brother.__"Sam, we don__'t have time for this right now.__" _

"_Make the time, Dean, cause I__'m sick and tired of going into these little hunts unprepared just so you can play at being a super hero.__"_

"_What the hell are you talkin__' about, dude?__"_

"_I get it, Dean.__" Sam motioned around him to all the unseen spirits and demons. __"I think we all get it. You feel worthless unless you are throwing me into some dangerous situation where you can save me . . . God, how twisted is that?__" Sam shook his head in disgust. __"But I__'m sick of being your bitch boy, Dean. Sick of being Lois to your Superman.__" His fingers tightened around the handle of his shotgun. The movement did not go unnoticed._

_Dean__'s eyes were drawn to the gun, a half-__frown tugged at his lower right cheek. He looked back up at Sam. __"What__'s my favorite color, Sam?__"_

"_What?__"_

"_My favorite color . . . what is it?__"_

"_You gotta be kiddin__' me.__" When Dean just stared ominously at him, Sam replied, _

"_Black . . . as in Impala black and leather jacket black. Christ, Dean, if you wanted to find out if I__'m a demon maybe you should ask a tougher question like how you broke your arm when you were twelve.__" Then to answer the question, he said, __"Climbing on a roof to save some damn cat. You fell and broke your right arm and needed twenty stitches. Man, even back then you had a warped savior complex.__"_

"_Huh, that__'s right.__" Dean nodded, turning away from his brother, he heard the rhythmic click-__click of Sam__'s shotgun being racked. He swung back around .45 aimed at Sam__'s chest and cocked back the trigger. __"Except I broke my left arm and I was eleven.__"_

_Sam__'s eyebrows rose slightly in disbelief. __"Are you gonna shoot me, Dean?__"_

"_Hm, I__'m thinkin__' about it,__" he retorted, the muscle in his cheek ticked erratically as he scowled at Sam. _

"_Go ahead,__" Sam said, raising both arms away from his chest, mockingly. When Dean failed to react, Sam snapped his shotgun back and fired, the deadly sound echoing through the trees. __"Didn__'t think so.__"_

"_Sonuva__— __" The salt round slammed into Dean__'s chest, sending him careening to the ground, knocking him unconscious, his .45, still clenched tightly in his fist._

_Sam stalked over to him, bent down, rested his elbows on his knees and smiled. He removed the knife from his pocket, careful not to touch the offending rosary, leaned forward, laying the blade against Dean__'s neck and digging the tip into the soft hollow under Dean__'s chin. Blood seeped down his neck from the shallow wound. __"Dean, wake up,__" he said in a deceptively calm voice. _

"_Sammy,__" Dean coughed out, the pressure of the blade against his windpipe nearly choking him. _

"_I was just wondering about something, Dean.__" _

"_What?__" Dean clutched hold of his aching chest, his breath coming in short rasping pants. _

"_Did that hurt as much as the first time? Cause from where I was standing, it just didn__'t look as spectacular as when you were blown clear through the door at the Roosevelt Asylum.__" Sam leaned back on his haunches and stared down at Dean, the tip of his blade still facing his brother._

"_Well, next time, warn me when you__'re gonna shoot me, and I__'ll make sure to put on a good show for ya.__" Dean rolled over to his side, pressing his hand against the ground. A deep growl of pain caught in his throat as he tried to stand. _

_Sam shot to his feet in the blink of an eye. He slammed his foot into Dean__'s side with unnatural force, sending him sprawling to the ground again and knocking the breath from him. Dean__'s gun flew out of his hand and landed near the tree line. Sam sauntered over to him, knelt down, grabbed him by the throat. Digging his fingers into Dean__'s neck, Sam forced him to look up into his black, soulless eyes. __"Are we havin__' fun yet, Dean?__" When Dean failed to respond, Sam angrily slashed the steel blade across his cheekbone. Blood dripped down his face and over Sam__'s hand. Licking the blood from his fingers, Sam asked, __"How about now?__"_

"_What did you do to my brother!__" Dean angrily hissed through clenched teeth, his voice weakening as Sam__'s grip tightened around his neck. _

_Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear, __"I__'m right here, Dean . . . I__'m just doing what I was meant to do. What I should have done a long time ago.__" He pulled back, raised a fist and slammed it into Dean__'s face. Dean__'s head snapped back with the force of the blow then lolled to the side. _

_Pushing Dean away, Sam stood and paced, his movements awkward and unnatural, his bones cracking eerily in protest of a second presence inside his body. His soul dying a bit more with each stroke of pain he__'d inflicted on his brother, yet was helpless to stop it from happening. He would kill Dean because that was what Belial demanded of him . . . it was what he was destined to do . . . Or was it? _

_In that moment of indecision, Sam__'s eyes flickered hazel. He glanced down at his brother__'s motionless body then turned away, loathing himself for what he__'d done. Why hadn__'t Dean fought back? Why would he just let him hurt him, without retaliating? Would his brother really allow him to kill him without even putting up a fight? Before Sam had a chance to answer that question, he felt himself falling backwards as Dean__'s legs swept across his calves, catching him off guard. _

_Slowly, Dean pushed himself to his feet, swiped the blood oozing from his cheek, then stalked over to Sam, and backhanded him across the face. __"I am so gonna kick your ass, little brother.__"_

_Sam hopped up, lashing out at his brother with the knife. Dean caught his arm, twisted it backwards, slamming his elbow down hard against Sam__'s forearm. The knife flew from Sam__'s hand, landing several feet away. Dean swung Sam back around, grabbed hold of his other arm, and drove his knee into Sam__'s gut. _

_Sam staggered backwards, gasping for breath. Regaining his balance, Sam charged at his brother, connecting with his mid-__section, knocking them both to the ground. Before Dean had a chance to move, Sam was on top of him, smashing him in the jaw. Sam raised his fist to strike again. Dean grabbed his wrist and yanked fiercely to the side, dislodging him. _

_Dean sprang to his feet. Sam followed. They circled, fists raised, each looking for an opening. Sam swung first. Dean expertly blocked, hooked Sam__'s head under his arm and drove his fist into Sam__'s stomach repeatedly. Sam twisted, trying to break free and Dean__'s fist connected with his brother__'s ribs. Sam cried out in pain. _

_Instantly, Dean backed off. __"Sorry Sam __— __" Dean didn__'t get a chance to finish as Sam let out a deep raging growl and came at him with a vengeance. _

_Sam threw a right cross. Dean deflected. Grabbing Sam, Dean smacked his forehead into Sam__'s. Sam__'s head snapped back, blood spilling from his nose. Dazed, Sam stumbled backward, falling on the ground. His hand landed on a limb. He snatched it, then shot back up._

_Swiping the blood from his nose, Sam sneered. __"I__'m gonna kill you for that!__"_

_Dean raised a hand to stop Sam. His brows furrowed, a clear warning in his menacing green eyes. __"Stop it, Sammy. Don__'t make me hurt you.__"_

_Sam swung the limb toward Dean__'s head. Dean ducked then slammed his fist into Sam__'s kidneys. Sam grasped his side, backing away for a moment to catch his breath. Sam lashed out again. Dean twisted to the side, narrowly escaping the blow. Sam quickly brought the limb back around and struck him in the back. _

_Dean careened forward hitting the ground. He hastily rolled over, brought up his legs and drove them into Sam__'s belly, fiercely propelling him backwards through the air and into the trees. _

_Sam let out an anguished scream then slumped to his knees. Blood seeped over jagged splinters of wood protruding from his chest. He tried to pull himself free, but couldn__'t. __"Dean . . . Help me, Dean.__" He winced in pain, tasting blood in the back of his throat._

_Dean hurried over to him, stopping short when he noticed deep crimson covering the snowy white birch branch. He dropped to his knees beside Sam. __"Oh, God, Sammy . . . I__'m so sorry.__" He lowered his head, brusquely running his fingers through his hair. __"I didn__'t mean to. . . .__"_

"_You did this to me?__" Sam winced again, crying out as he grabbed onto Dean__'s shirt. __"Why?__"_

"_I __— you wouldn__'t stop. I tried to get you to stop. . . .__" _

"_You tried to kill me.__" Sam released Dean__'s shirt, reached behind his back and removed the .45 from his waistband. Sam pointed his gun at Dean then cocked the trigger._

_Dean backed away, raising his hands, and shaking his head. __"Sammy, don__'t.__" _

"_Why, Dean?__" Confused hazel eyes locked with green ones for a brief moment. Sam fired the gun, the sound reverberating through the quiet forest. _

"_Sammy,__" Dean whispered, blood bubbling from his lips, a shattered, heartbroken look in his eyes. Dean stared at him in disbelief, then suddenly his eyes closed and he crumpled to the ground. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Dean reluctantly left Sam in Angelina's care after she'd insisted if they planned on saving Sammy they would need certain items. Items Dean would have to obtain. Angelina also warned him not to use any of his fake credit cards to buy them. He'd argued at first, his burning pride not allowing him to tell her he'd only had about twenty dollars to his name. She remained adamant on the matter and finally, Dean grudgingly agreed. Swiping what little money Sam had left in his billfold, Dean headed out the door.

Dean searched high and low in almost every gift and antique shop in Lowville for something remotely similar to a brass vessel and ring Angelina had described to him in elaborate detail. Anything he'd thought might work, cost more than he had to spend. Even with Sam's money, he still knew it would be virtually impossible to get what she'd asked for. His fingers itched to pull out one of his phoney credit cards, but there had been something dire in Angelina's tone when she'd told him not to use them. A subtle threat. A warning that if he didn't do exactly as she'd asked, Sam would be lost to him, forever. He'd lost his father and now faced losing Sam, and he just wasn't prepared to do that.

After coming out of the seventh store empty-handed, Dean felt nearly defeated. Running his hand along the length of his face, Dean leaned against the brick store front, and watched two young boys running up the street toward him.

The younger, darker haired boy stumbled and cried out to the older one. The older boy immediately rushed back to him. And if Dean wasn't mistaken, he could've sworn he'd heard the older boy say, "It's okay, Sammy, I'll take care of you," as he knelt and checked the little boy's knee. His little brother swiped away his tears as his big brother scuffed his hair. The older boy zipped his little brother's jacket, and handed him something, then they both got to their feet and ran toward Dean. The older one locked eyes with Dean's briefly as he passed by before disappearing into a store.

_I__'ll take care of you, Sammy;_ the words echoed over and over again in Dean's mind. He hadn't taken care of his brother. He'd left Sam to be tortured by Belial. All-the-while, he'd sat helplessly in a hospital room watching his little brother's life slowly ebb away and had done nothing to stop it from happening.

Dean slid down the wall into a crouching position, his elbows rested on his knees with head bent low, fingers kneading his tired, red-rimmed eyes. He'd failed Sammy once already and was about to do so again. At that moment, he hated himself for not being able to protect his little brother. Hated himself for allowing his brother to come into harm's way. Hated himself for not having a real job so he could afford to buy a stupid brass jar legally.

His stomach wrenched in tight knots. A thick lump formed in his throat, choking off his breath. _Sam__'s going to die._ Without a shadow of a doubt, Dean knew that to be true. Although Angelina never came right out and said it, she did say Sam was stuck and couldn't move on. And Dean knew from a lifetime of experience moving on meant dying. And if Sammy died, he would die as well. He couldn't live without his brother. Wouldn't live without him.

_I was supposed to die first, Sammy, not you. _His fingers curled tightly into his hair. _You were meant to live and get a normal life . . . a safe life, far away from hunting demons. _Deep down, Dean knew it was a selfish thought. He knew Sam would blame himself for Dean's death much in the same way as he'd always blamed himself for the deaths of everyone he cared about. If he'd died fighting off some demon, Sam would continue to hunt. And if Sam hunted alone . . . he would die alone.

_No . . . I am going to save you, Sammy! Nothin__'s gonna stop me! Not Angels nor Demons! _

Dean determinedly pushed himself to his feet and was about to head back the way he'd come, but the glint of bright light, caught his attention. The older boy he's seen running into the store, stood in the entranceway, staring at Dean, the sunlight reflected off the glass door. His sharp blue-eyed gaze locked with Dean's and didn't falter. His little brother came to stand in front of him and glanced up at his older brother and then at Dean. A half-smile twisted on his little face as his brother placed a protective hand on his shoulder.

Normally, Dean wouldn't have believed this to be a sign of divine intervention, however, he also wouldn't have believed in Angels either. Dean strode over to them and paused, looking from one to the other. The older boy wrapped his arm around his brother's chest. A wry grinned settled on Dean's face as he bit at his lower lip.

"Always protect your little brother," Dean said as he started to enter the building.

"I will, mister," the older boy assured, "nothin is ever gonna hurt, Sammy, while I'm around."

The fixed expression on the boy's face stopped Dean dead in his tracks, and he could have kicked himself for uttering the words his father had once said to him.

"Good," was all he could think to reply.

"Jamie . . . Sammy," a woman called out from inside the store. "Stop bothering the poor man and come inside."

She came out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her jeans, then brushed her fingers through her thick, golden-brown tresses. She smiled at Dean, the corners of her bright blue eyes crinkling. "Sorry about that. Jamie is just very protective of Sammy and he got it into his head that you were some kind of crazed madman."

Dean grinned. "S'okay . . . have a brother of my own."

"Is there something I can help you find?"

"Yeah, I'm lookin' for any sort of brass vase. And I also need a ring."

She thought about it for a moment then gestured toward the back of the room. "I have some brass stuff back there just beyond the shelves of baskets. "Don't have any rings though."

Dean inclined his head in the direction where she'd pointed and nodded. "Thanks."

Dean strode past shelves lined with rustic knickknacks, old books, tacky floral arrangements, fishing tackle, and every kind of basket imaginable. On the old wooden floor, rows of woven baskets were filled with fishing poles and above his head hung various chandeliers, some ordinary, some made with deer antlers.

Sidestepping several hand-made end tables made entirely of white birch, he finally came to the brass items. A deep frown formed on Dean's face as he sifted through small array of items, not finding anything. Then, he spied an incense censer with strange scrolled writing on it, far in the back on the bottom shelf. He snatched it up and checked the price, smiling as he headed back to the check out counter.

"Um, found what you were looking for," the boys' mother asked, her nose scrunched in distaste as she looked at the ugly incense holder.

"Yeah, it's perfect."

Dean quickly paid and was about to turn to leave when he felt something tugging at the bottom of his leather jacket. He glanced down and saw little Sammy, smiling up at him, his face and fingers covered in melted chocolate.

"Can ya tie my shoes?" he asked innocently as he beamed up at Dean, his dark brown eyes sparkling.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, reminded of his own brother asking the same thing when he was younger.

"Samuel Winston Hawthorne," his mother nearly shouted as she gaped down at the chocolate mess now covering Dean's jacket and then back up at him. "Oh my God, I am so sorry. I've told Sammy hundreds of times not to bother the customers. I'll pay to have it cleaned for you."

"Huh? Naw, s'okay." Dean bent and tied the little boy's shoe. "There ya go."

"Samuel, say you're sorry to the nice man," his mother sternly admonished.

The little boy turned to his mother, his eyes pleading. When she crossed her arms and frowned at him, Sammy turned to Dean. Tears welled and dampened, Sammy's thick lashes and his lower lip pulled upward in a pout. It reminded Dean so much of his own brother at that age that his own eyes stung with unspent tears.

"Sorry," he uttered, before hurrying off to find Jamie.

"Just a sec, I'll get something to clean that off for you," Sam's mother said and rushed off, but by the time she came back, Dean was gone.

Dean pulled into the gas station, fueled up and hurried inside to pay, intent on finding the ring and getting back to Sam as quickly as possible, but the strong scent of coffee assailed his senses the moment he opened the door. It smelled heavenly and he sorely needed the caffeine boost as he'd scarcely had any sleep in the past three days.

Out of habit, Dean briefly stood in the entrance and surveyed the place. Two men sat in a small booth near the window sipping coffee and eating doughnuts while a young woman behind the counter busied herself with filling a shelf with cigarettes. She turned when she heard the bell on the door chime and smiled. Besides them, there was no one else in the small convenience store.

"Can I help you," she asked, blushing sweetly, realizing she was staring at him.

"Nope, just wanted some coffee." He jerked his hand back toward the Impala. "And gas."

"Help yourself. It's good and strong, just the way Earl and Jake like it." She pointed at the two men, who turned to look at her and Dean before returning to their conversation. "I swear, they come in here every day and drink two pots, before noon." She blushed again. "Sorry . . . I'm babbling. It's over there." She gestured toward a counter off to the left behind Jake and Earl.

"Thanks." On his way back to get coffee, Dean grabbed a large bag of peanut M&M's off the shelf, ripped them open and popped a few in his mouth. "Add these to my bill," he called out to the cashier.

"Sure thing, hon."

Dean poured himself a cup of the steaming hot liquid and drank it halfway down in one gulp. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. He quickly polished it off and poured himself another. Tossing more M&M's in his mouth, Dean leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes and flexed his tired muscles.

"Excuse me," came a deep, husky voice from in front of him. "Wanted to get another cup."

Startled, Dean opened his eyes, his hand immediately reaching for the knife concealed in his pocket, and saw the younger man from the booth smiling at him. "Um . . . sure, sorry about that." Dean slid down to the end of the short counter.

"Not a problem," the young man replied, pouring himself a refill. "You look kinda tired, if you don't mind my sayin' so, mister."

The young man turned and stared at Dean. His deep blue eyes searching and analyzing Dean's every movement. It reminded Dean of something his brother would do if Sam knew something was bothering him. "M'okay." He had to stop himself before adding, Sammy.

It was strange, although he looked nothing like Sam, there was still something about the man that reminded Dean of his brother. Maybe it was his look of wide-eyed innocence or perhaps his gentle demeanor that immediately put Dean at ease. Whatever it was, Dean found it to be rather unsettling.

"If you need a place to spend the night there is a good motel up the road a piece. It's cheap and clean. Stayed there myself when I got . . . when I first came here."

"Earl, leave the man alone," the older man called out gruffly, wrapping his beefy arms around his expansive chest as he scowled at Dean. "Get the hell over here and finish your story, before I lose my sense of humor and have you committed for actually believin' in that kind of stuff."

Dean curtly nodded toward Jake with a tight-lipped grin. "Friendly guy."

"Oh, him." Earl jerked a thumb toward Jake, and muttered, "Sorry about that . . . he hasn't had a drink in over a week and blames me for it. But, if you think he's mean now, you should've seen him when he drank."

Earl went back and slid into the seat opposite of Jake. Lowering his voice, he said, "I'm tellin' ya, Jake, it was totally freaky. First he was there, staring at me all confused lookin' and the next thing I knew he was gone."

Earl turned around and checked to make sure Dean wasn't listening. Dean lowered his head, pretending to rest his eyes as he listened intently to what the younger man was saying.

Swiveling back around, Earl lowered his voice till it was just above a whisper. "It was like he was a ghost or somethin'."

Dean's hand tightened around his coffee cup. The last thing he wanted to hear at the moment was about another spirit that needed to taken care of. But his hunter mode kicked in and he found himself leaning closer to catch every word Earl had to say.

The older man, kneaded his huge sausage fingers through his bushy beard, a bemused grin on his weathered face. "Earl, how many times do I have to tell ya, not to get sloshed when you're goin' hiking?"

Earl raised his right hand, and the glint from the man's ring, caught Dean's eye. "I swear, I was stone cold sober."

"Sure you were."

Dean was about to walk away, thinking Earl had been rambling on about some drunken delusion when his next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Seriously, Jake. He seemed to think I was some guy named Dean, at first." Earl scratched the back of his head, ruffling his fingers through his short scruffy brown hair. "Actually, heard him hollerin' to this Dean guy before I saw him. Sounded kinda desperate to find him, if you ask me."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean swore under his breath, shaking his head. Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulled out his identification and sidled over to the two men. "Sorry, couldn't help overhearing ya from over there." He hitched a finger back to where he'd been standing.

Jake's beady brown eye's narrowed slightly. "Sure you could've, mister . . . didn't think I noticed ya over there, snoopin' like some nosey little school girl. What are you, another one of those damn reporters tryin' to dig up more dirt on those poor dead girls?"

Dean ignored Jake's comment as he gestured for him to move over on the booth. "Do you mind?"

"As a matter of fact — "

"Thanks." Dean grinned as he cut Jake off, sliding in next to the big burly man. Dean's demeanor and tone suddenly turned deadly serious. "Actually, my name is Ethan Caztaway. FBI Special Agent Ethan Caztaway, to be more precise." He flipped open his badge and showed them, then snapped it shut. He retrieved a picture from his pocket and threw it down on the table next to Earl. "I've been tracking this fugitive all the way here from Mississippi and was wondering if this is the man you saw?"

Earl picked up the picture, stared at it for a moment and nodded. "Looks a little younger here, but yeah, that's him. What'd he do?"

"Not at liberty to say, sir. But let's just say that if I told you, you'd have the kinds of nightmares no one ever wants to have."

Earl swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbling up and down, with the effort. "How can I help you?"

"Tell me exactly what happened and when."

"Yesterday . . . I was out hiking in the woods off of Green Bridge Road near Moose River. You know where that is?" Dean nodded, so he continued, "And, well, I stopped to take a picture of two deer and then I heard him. He was callin' out to this guy Dean all desperate like. Then I saw him running through the trees like, oh, I dunno, forty or fifty feet in front of me. Suddenly he stopped and stared at me. The next thing I know he's behind me, grabbin' my jacket an' callin me Dean. Never in my life have I seen a man move so fast."

"Yeah, that Sam's a fast one . . . ran some track in high school before he took a turn toward the dark side."

"Well anyway . . . the way he looked at me, I thought Dean must've been his boyfriend or somethin'." He gave Dean a knowing glance.

Dean rolled his eyes, shook his head, and let out a deep aggravated sigh. "Why would you think that?"

Earl shrugged. "You would've had to have seen his face when he thought I was this Dean guy."

"What do you mean?" Dean grimaced. Not being the first time people had assumed they were a couple instead of brothers, he was more than a little irritated.

"I dunno man, it was just like you could tell how much he loved him."

"Dean's . . . his brother." The words caught in Dean's throat as tears threatened to spill from the corner of his eyes. He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes, feigning an attempt at looking frustrated. Once he regained his resolve, Dean glanced back up at Earl.

"Oh, didn't know that . . . he dangerous too?" Earl asked, his unsettling gaze lingering on Dean.

"Yeah, that Dean's a real bad ass, even more so than his little brother," Dean said with a rakish grin. Noting the time on the clock on the wall, Dean thought of Sam and how long he'd been gone. "What happened next?"

"That Dean guy . . . do you think he's around here somewhere too?" Earl asked ignoring Dean's question, his deep blue eyes rounding with concern.

"Yeah, where Sammy is . . . Dean's not far behind."

"Maybe Dean skipped out on him figuring he was a goner and what with you hot on their trail an' all." Earl paused, cleared his throat and looked at Dean, meeting Dean's menacing glare without flinching. "I mean seriously, dude, from the looks of him this Sam guy is pretty much a dead man walking."

Dean shook his head, wanting nothing more than to jump over the table and strangle Earl. Resisting the urge, he balled his hands into tight fists and shoved them in his pockets. "Dean would never do that."

"How can you be sure?" Jake quickly hopped to Earl's defense, eyeing Dean suspiciously. "If they're as bad as you say they are, who's to say that he wouldn't leave his brother behind to get away?"

"It's my job to know Sam and Dean . . . Dean would protect Sammy with his life. He would never leave Sam behind." Even as he said it, Dean mentally kicked himself for not protecting Sammy. For not being there when he needed him the most. _How could I have been so stupid? _And if what Earl had said was true, Sam didn't have much time left and here he was wasting what little he did have.

"Actually felt kinda sorry for the guy," Earl muttered, and when Jake raised a quizzical brow, he hastened to add, "Hey, I didn't know he was a fugitive. An' he didn't seem dangerous . . . just scared and somehow broken . . . like he was ready to give up."

Dean couldn't tolerate hearing anymore. "Sorry I took up so much of your time." He hastily stood, more than ready to leave both Earl and Jake behind. "I've got to go make a phone call to report this new information."

Dean marched over to the counter to pay his bill and saw a small rack of rings on the counter. "How much are those?" He inclined his head toward the rings.

"Six ninety-five, plus tax," the girl answered.

Dean pulled out the rest of his money, immediately realizing he was about three dollars short. He swore under his breath. If only he hadn't bought coffee and M&M's, he knew he would have had enough money.

"Did you want one?"

"Nope, just askin'." Dean threw the money down on the counter, and not waiting for change, he headed out the door.

Dean stalked over to the Impala, stood there for a moment, his jaw tightly clenched, his tense muscles bunching and straining against his T-shirt. The muscle in his cheek jerked ominously as he glared at his car . . . his baby. Before he even knew what he was doing, he slammed his booted foot into the door. He kicked it again and again then his fist connected with cold hard steel.

"Son of a — " Dean bit down hard on his lower lip as he grabbed his right hand and cradled it to his chest. Leaning against the dented door, he lowered his head in defeat. If he couldn't afford a ring at a gas station, he couldn't afford one anywhere. He imagined himself standing over Sammy's grave begging for his forgiveness for buying coffee and candy instead of using what little money he'd had to save his brother's life.

Slowly, he turned and opened the car door and was about to get in when Earl called out to him.

"Hey, wait." Earl stepped out of the store and ambled over to the car, and Dean noticed for the first time that he favored one leg. "Forgot to tell you somethin'."

"I think I have all I need," came Dean's tight-lipped response.

"No, I don't think you do . . . Dean," Earl said, crossing his arms defiantly, he waited for Dean to deny it. The look Earl gave him could have come straight out of the Sammy guilt trip book.

"My name's Ethan not Dean."

Earl gestured toward the front of the Impala, and smiled. "I noticed your car when you pulled in. Not the most inconspicuous of vehicles." He paused to admire the car, before continuing, "Anyways, your license plate is CAZ 2Y5 or Caztaway like the name you used. Now, I'm not much of a betting man, but I think an FBI agent would be smart enough not to use his name on his license plate."

Dean leaned over the door frame, fingers clasped, his brows furrowing menacingly as he contemplated what Earl had said. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I wanted you to know what Sam said to me . . . just in case . . . and I couldn't tell you in front of Jake. He would never understand."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his right brow arching slightly. "What do you mean, just in case? I'm gonna save Sammy."

"I really hope you do, man." A sad faraway look settled on Earl's face. His eyes glistened with tears. "I know what it's like to lose a brother. My older brother died in my arms, gunned down while tryin' to stop some guy from stealin' an old lady's purse." He swiped the tears with the back of his hand. "He never got to hear all I needed to tell him. Never knew how much I loved him . . . so this I'm doin' for him and for Sam."

Dean lowered his head to the side and nodded. "What did he say?"

"Sam said he never meant to kill you." Earl scratched the back of his head, a puzzled expression on his face. "Not sure what that meant, but he did seem pretty out of it. Bleedin' all over the place." He waited for Dean to explain.

"What else," Dean asked, his brow furrowing, hands visibly shaking.

"He said he wasn't as strong as you, and didn't think he could hold out much longer." Earl paused and drew in a deep breath, before he continued, "He wanted you to know he loved you, and was sorry if you never knew it."

Dean inclined his head, his lips pressed tightly against his teeth, tears stinging his eyes. He nodded. "I knew it, Sammy," he whispered. "I knew it."

"That's about all he said before he realized I wasn't you and ran off."

Dean slid into the car and turned the key. The engine roared to life. His fingers tightly gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white with the effort. "Th-thanks, Earl," his voice hitched in his constricted throat.

"Wait, I have something for you." Earl wriggled the ring off his ring finger and handed it to Dean. "Saw the way you eyed those rings in the store and thought maybe you could use this one."

Dean stared incredulously at the brass ring with the Star of David emblazoned on its aged surface. Nobody had ever given Dean anything before and he didn't know what to think. "I can't take this."

Dean tried to give it back, but Earl shook his head and backed away. "Naw, dude, it's yours. The Star of David."He pointed at the symbol and then winked. "It's a keeper for sure." Earl glanced down briefly at the ring then back up at Dean.

Dean grinned. "Dude, you've no idea, how much this means to me."

"Yeah, I think I do, Dean . . . now go and save your brother."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

"He's gone, Sammy," the breeze seemed to whisper. "You killed him."

"No – No!" Sam yelled out to the wind, tears falling unchecked down his face. "I would never do that. I couldn't. He's my brother." But even as he adamantly declared his innocence, he wasn't sure. He kept seeing himself shooting Dean. Seeing the sad, broken expression on his brother's face when his green eyes locked with Sam's hazel ones.

Hazel.

Not black. Not possessed.

In a brilliant burst of flames, Belial materialized in front of Sam a wry smile twisting on his lips. "Then where is he?"

"He will come back for me!"

"Hmm . . . such faith. Well, let me make things a little clearer for you."

Belial ran his frigid fingertips across Sam's forehead, and the image of Dean staggering out of a copse of trees came into focus. Leaning heavily to the left, Dean stumbled and fell twice, crying out in pain. The second time, he was slower to rise, every movement draining the last of his fragile stores of strength. Once more he staggered forward, until finally he disappeared from Sam's view.

Dean never looked back.

Sam swallowed hard against the painful knot constricting his throat. _Oh, God, Dean . . . I'm so sorry. _

Belial bent, the side of their faces barely touching, he licked his pale lips then whispered in Sam's ear, "How did it feel to kill your own brother?"

Sam jerked away. "He's not dead."

"But you're not sure, are you?"

"No," Sam admitted reluctantly. Then he thought of his brother. Dean would defy death to save him. He always had and always would. Not even Belial could keep Dean from protecting him. _Unless he believes, I really tried to kill him. What if he does? What if he doesn't come back for me?_

"I-I just have to wait, he'll come back for me. Dean wouldn't leave me."

"Your father never came back."

"That's different."

"What makes you think your brother will?"

Sam leaned forward slightly, his face within mere inches of the demon's. He narrowed his eyes defiantly. "Because he is Dean. He doesn't know how to leave me behind. He doesn't know how to quit."

If Sam wanted to anger the demon, he couldn't have chosen a better way. The truth behind the words became a force of its own. Belial staggered backward as if Sam had shot him point blank with a salt round. His beautiful face contorted, a hideous mask of rage.

Quickly regaining his composure, Belial snapped his neck from side to side, cracked his knuckles, expansive gray-black wings arching high above his head as he descended on Sammy. Belial's fingers tightened upon Sam's jacket; their eyes locked briefly then he forcefully ripped Sam from the tree limb. A sharp gasp escaped Sam's lips as his right shoulder jerked back, agonizing pain flaring through him as bone collided with the unforgiving wood. Blood coursed freely from the gaping wound.

Tears spilled from the corners of Sam's eyes. He squeezed them shut, biting down hard on his lower lip, refusing to cry out. Grabbing his right arm, he clutched it protectively. His chest heaved, nostrils flaring as he attempted to control his labored breathing.

Belial threw him forcefully to the ground. "You are a murderer, Sam. You killed your brother because I willed it to be so. Deny it all you like it doesn't change the facts."

"Dean's cheated death before . . . twice," Sam countered defiantly. _I won't give up on you, Dean. You have to be okay. It has to be like before. You're alive._ _I know you are . . ._ _I would feel it if you weren't. Wouldn't I?_

Sam struggled to stand and in an instant Belial was beside him, plunging razor-sharp nails into the open wound. A dark crimson trail of blood slithered down Belial's forearm as he twisted his thumb deeper into Sam's injured shoulder. A low guttural cry tore from Sam's lips. Belial grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head to face him. "Third time's the charm, Sammy."

"I don't believe you." Sam gasped as he desperately tried to draw in air.

"Why? Because it would make you a murderer . . . would make you just like me?"

"I'm not a murderer!"

Belial drove his knee into Sam's ribs. Sam forcefully exhaled, his breath leaving him in a rush. He groaned as Belial gently traced his blood-soaked fingers along Sam's lips. "No, you were a murderer . . . now you are just some pathetic wraith who doesn't realize he has died."

Sam's heavily-lidded eyes widened slightly in disbelief. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. _Dead? No, I'm not dead. _He could still think. Still breathe, although it was becoming increasingly more difficult. Still feel the burning in his shoulder, the agonizing pain in his rib cage as Belial crushed his full weight into them.

Sam blinked hard trying to ward off the darkness threatening to take him. _No,_ he assured himself, _I'm still alive_. But, he was dying . . . .he knew that much for certain. If Dean was alive and was searching for him, he needed to hurry.

"Dean," he murmured, his trembling voice pleading for his brother to hear him, "help me."

Belial raised his fist and slammed it into Sam's cheek. The forest seemed to tilt sideways precariously then shifted back abruptly. Bright flashes of white-hot light danced and sparked before Sam's eyes, slowly fading into the gathering gloom. Just before he succumbed to blissful darkness, he saw her. A woman haloed in pale golden light.

She drifted ghostlike to his side. Kneeling, she gathered him into her protective embrace. Tears silently fell down her face as she hummed softly to him and caressed his cheek with delicate fingers. "Don't let go, Sammy. Not now . . . not yet."

"Leave us," Angelina commanded Belial. Shimmering golden light surrounded Angelina and grew to encompass and shield Sam. Silver-white wings arched forward and wrapped lightly around Sam's motionless body.

"He's mine." Belial crossed his arms defiantly. "You cannot protect him forever."

"No." She arched a delicate brow, and stared at him, amused by his unsettled nature. "But I can bring forth the one who will and he will devour you. Lest you forget that."

Belial stalked back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching, averting his dark gaze from her heavenly glimmer. "One of them is mine." He paused, lowering his gaze to Sam, a fierce scowl contorting his beautiful features. "You cannot have them both."

"Neither can you. But you will try."

"Naturally."

"Then so will I."

Belial nodded. "He will never choose your way. His life is bound to his brother's." A deep, satisfied smile formed on his pale, smooth lips. "And his brother will make a deal . . . just like his father did."

"We shall see about that, won't we?" She glanced down at Sam, a wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and then she looked back up to Belial. "I think you underestimate them both . . . and that will be your downfall."

When Sam finally woke again, he was alone. The first glistening rays of dawn peeked through the canopy of trees overhead. Stagnant air, thick and tainted with the scent of sulfur and death assailed Sam's senses. His stomach heaved violently. He rolled over just in time and threw up, his aching ribs protesting as his stomach clenched tightly. His breath coming in short staggered gasps.

Sam lay back, resting his head against the cold damp ground. He closed his eyes and thought of Dean. Dean crumpling to the ground. His sad, broken expression. The blood bubbling from his lips.

Sam swiped away a tear, his sadness swiftly turning to anger. Demons had taken everything away from him . . . his father, his mother, Jess, the life he could have had . . . but they wouldn't take Dean from him! Not Dean! Hell won't be large enough for them to hide in if they tried!

Sam pressed his left hand into the mud and struggled to stand. He faltered as another wave of nausea overwhelmed him.

_Come on Sammy, get your sorry butt up and go get that sonuvabitch. _It was Dean's voice he heard in his head. Dean's voice giving him the strength he needed to stand and fight. Dean, his anchor . . . his saving grace.

"Somehow, I'll kill Belial, Dean," Sam vowed. "I swear to God, I'll do whatever I have to do to save you."

The first thing Sam needed to do was find Dean. If his brother was badly injured, he would need help. Then he would hunt Belial. Sam knew it would be his last hunt. But, it would be a hunt no demon would ever forget!

Determined, Sam headed in the direction, he'd last seen his brother. His movements were awkward and rapid, ghostlike. Each and every step took him farther then he anticipated. Sam tried not to think what that meant. Yet, Belial's words came back to haunt him anyhow. Belial had called him a wraith. A spirit that didn't know it was dead. If that was true, he knew he didn't have much time left to rescue Dean.

Instead of deterring him, Sam found his newly acquired speed a blessing. He was able to search the forest in record time. And although it worried him slightly that he no longer felt any pain in either his ribs or the wound in his shoulder, he pushed onward calling out to Dean as he went.

The autumn sun fast approached its zenith by the time Sam stopped to take a break. Surprisingly, he wasn't tired in the least. He'd only paused to take in his surroundings and to determine what way he should try next.

A rustling in a thicket ahead caught his attention. He darted toward the sound and saw a man about Dean's height on the trail up ahead.

"Dean," Sam shouted.

In an instant, Sam was beside him, grabbing his leather jacket and swinging Dean around to face him. Startled green eyes stared up at him, a sad frown curled his lips downward as he slowly lowered his head to take in Sam's bloodied clothes, and wounded shoulder.

"Dean, I thought I'd lost you . . . thought I'd killed you. I'm so sorry."

Dean's green eyes narrowed, his brows pulling together in confusion, yet he said nothing as he continued to stare at Sam.

"I need you to know something, Dean . . . need for you to understand."

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes. A tight knot formed in his throat making it hard for him to breath or speak. How could he tell Dean all he needed to . . . all that he'd never been able to say to him before and then leave him behind? Dean would never understand. Would blame himself.

"It's my turn, Dean . . . it's my turn to save you." Sam grabbed hold of Dean's shoulder to steady himself. He needed his brother to understand that he had no regrets. Sam knew he couldn't show weakness now or Dean would never let him go. "I've never been as strong as you, Dean, but I'm trying."

Dean inclined his head, his eyes averted, and nodded. He still said nothing as he continued to listen.

"When we were younger, I would let you take the blame for things you never did, and as we got older, I blamed you for not being strong enough to walk away from this life." Sam hesitated, knowing he needed to have a clear conscience when he faced Belial for the last time. He couldn't do what he had to do if so many lies were left unspoken between him and his brother.

Clearing his throat, Sam tasted warm salty blood. He pressed forward, knowing his time was running out and he still had more to say. "I hated what hunting did to you . . . and I hated you for not understanding that . . . and I wanted you to hate me for leaving you behind. Wanted you to hate me for ruining your life, but you never did. — And I hated you for that too."

Sam bit down on his lower lip, not knowing quite how to say the words that were buried deep within his frantically, beating heart. The words he'd longed to utter, but had never found the courage to say before. He took a staggering breath to steady himself and then met Dean's glistening gaze. "But I've always loved you, Dean . . . you're my brother . . . my hero . . . and I've never loved anyone more than you . . . and I'm sorry if you never knew it."

Sam turned away from his brother, knowing how Dean would react to his next words and Sam couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes. "I don't want to die, Dean . . . but I would die for

you . . . please, let me save you once before I do. . . . " Sam twisted back to face Dean, his eyes pleading with his brother to accept what he'd said. "I need to be strong, Dean, and I can't do that if I know it will kill you."

Sam waited for Dean to say something . . . anything, but his brother remained silent.

Sam slowly began to realize there was something different about Dean, something he hadn't noticed before. His eyes were more blue than green. His face, more rounded than sharp. His features, more soft than rigid with determination. How Sam hadn't noticed it until now was beyond his understanding.

It wasn't Dean.

It wasn't his brother he'd just poured his heart out to.

Belial had tricked him . . . had made Sam see what he'd wanted him to see. Sam had foolishly believed with all his heart that this Dean was real. He'd wanted to believe he would see his brother one last time . . . one last time to make things right, but he knew now that would never be the case.

_Dean, how could I have been so stupid. _Tears streamed down Sam's face, a hollow ache forming in the pit of his stomach._ Oh, God, I am so sorry . . . I never meant to kill you._ His chest constricted painfully, his heart beating rapidly as his anger boiled to the surface. His face contorted in rage.

"Sonuvabitch! Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll kill you for this, Belial!" Pushing Dean's imposter away, Sam tore off through the woods.

"That was rather harsh, don't you think," Dean's imposter didn't turn as he spoke. "I know you're back there; what are you thinking?"

"Don't be too hard on him, Gabriel," Angelina said, coming to stand beside him. "He doesn't know."

Gabriel twisted the Star of David ring around with his thumb and index finger as he thought about what she'd said. He turned to face her, his gaze menacing, terrifyingly so but Angelina stood her ground. "I'm not sure their faith is strong enough, Angelina. And let's face it, they're not exactly choirboys — not by a long shot."

"But if we don't have faith in them, then they've already lost."

A half-smile twisted on Gabriel's face as he nodded and then disappeared, leaving Angelina alone.

She knew what she needed to do . . . she needed to go find Dean. _He should have returned by now; I was certain he would know Sam's life was in danger._ She was so sure Dean would know of the war Sam waged alone, she never even stopped to consider why he hadn't come. Now she knew. Dean would never leave Sam's mortal body unprotected.

Angelina turned and stared in the direction Sam had just traveled, a sad smile on her face. "Hold on, Sammy," she whispered, "you'll see your brother again. I promise you."


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

Dean leaned in the entranceway of his brother's hospital room, his stomach coiling in tight knots. Suddenly afraid to enter, he fidgeted with the fake id badge on his white lab coat. The picture of the man with scruffy brown hair didn't really resemble him, but if know one looked too closely, Dean figured it would be passable.

He scowled at the salt trail he'd placed inside the doorway. It hadn't protected them. Nothing could protect them. Not salt trails. Not amulets and charms. Not holy water. And definitely not faith.

Angrily, Dean thrust his foot through it. Salt crystals scattered across the pristine green-tiled flooring.

_Sammy, you can__'t leave me._

Dean knew Angelina had expected him to have faith . . . to believe in something besides hunting and evil. He didn't think he could. His jaw clenched tightly the muscle in his jaw flexing rhythmically. _How the hell am I supposed to believe there is really more out there than just evil. I__'ve lived it and breathed it every single day of my life! It took my dad __— my mom __— and now it wants to take Sam from me too! _Dean shook his head. _No, there isn__'t anything else out there. Just evil, its victims and those who hunt it down._

He rested his head against his arm, and watched Angelina as she tended to Sam. Her head lowered, delicate fingers gently caressing his brother's pale cheek. Angelina bent and kissed Sam lightly on the forehead and spoke softly to him in a language Dean could not fathom. The words sounded like beautiful music as they rolled off her tongue.

"What did you just say to him," Dean asked, his voice low and strained, inclining his head toward his brother.

Angelina turned and smiled, her eyes glistening shards of green-blue ice. Dean didn't return her smile. "An angel's prayer, Dean. It was not meant for your ears."

"Is he — is he worse?" Dean crossed his arms, lowering his face to escape from her intent gaze. He felt way too vulnerable under her close scrutiny.

"What do you mean?"

"Um," he hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer. Rubbing tired eyes with his thumb and index finger, Dean schooled his features to show no outward emotion. "I mean if an angel's praying over you, ya gotta be pretty bad off, right?"

Angelina nodded.

Dean cocked his head to the side averting his gaze from her and Sam, a deep, hollow ache filling his heart. He bit his lower lip and nodded. "Do you think I could have a moment alone with my brother . . . an angel free moment. No one listening from somewhere overhead." He gestured toward the dull white ceiling. "I mean, is that allowed?"

"Yeah, Dean, that's allowed." Angelina stepped away from Sam, her arm lightly brushing against Dean's forearm as she walked out of the door. "I'll be back shortly."

Dean took a tentative step toward his brother and wavered, his heart in his throat. There were new ugly, purplish bruises and a deep cut on his brother's left cheek. Fresh blood seeped from beneath Sam's hospital gown. Dean's gaze strayed to the heart monitor, listening to his brother's slow heart beat.

_Damn it, Sammy, you can__'t do this to me. You can__'t die. I won__'t let you._

Dean strode the rest of the way to the bed, sat down and rested his arm protectively across Sam's chest.

He had so many things he wanted to say . . . so many things he wanted to tell his brother. His mind was so jumbled, he didn't even know where to begin. Everything he'd thought to say sounded stupid and pathetic.

"Hey there, Sammy." His hand tightened around Sam's arm.

Silently, he willed Sam to take his strength, to take his heart, his soul . . . to take whatever he needed to fight off the demon. To come back to him.

"Angels." Dean jerked his thumb back toward the door Angelina had just exited, avoiding what he really wanted to say. "Huh, never would have imagined that, dude."

Sam remained motionless, eyes closed, barely breathing.

Dean's face crumpled, his lips pressed tight against his teeth, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He scratched the back of his head then brusquely raked his fingers through his short, scruffy hair.

"Damn it, Sammy! Come on, open your eyes . . . talk to me . . . do something." Dean angrily swiped away the tears falling down his cheek. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "Just let me know that your still here with me . . . I can't do this alone — don't want to do this alone."

As if to answer Dean's plea, Sam's head slammed to the side, his body arching, a cry of pain escaping his dried, cracked lips before he went deathly still once more. Within a moment, Sam's right eye began swelling, blood trickling from a cut just below his brow.

"Hold on, Sammy!" Dean ordered, taking on his father's authoritative tone. "Don't you dare let that evil sonuvabitch win — you hear me!"

Dean stood, kicking the chair away forcefully. It slammed into the wall. A picture crashed to the floor sending sparkling shards across the cold, bare floor.

He stalked back and forth trying in vain desperation to regain his composure. What Sam had told Earl echoed in Dean's fragile mind. Sam knew he was dying. He was alone and he was dying. _I told you I would always protect you. Would always be there for you _. . . _and now you__'re alone. I failed you, Sammy. This is all my fault. _

He needed to tell Sammy . . . needed him to know. . . .

"I'm not gonna say it, Sammy. I can't." Dean shook his head, closed his eyes and released a deep shuttering sigh. "Not like this . . . if I do it means I've given up on you — And I just won't do that!"

He glanced back over at Sam, a wry smile on his face. "But know this . . . I do. Never doubt it, Sammy."

A knock on the door, and Angelina peeked inside before entering "Dean, we really have to go."

She raised a disapproving brow, lips pursed as she shook her head."How did I not notice your snazzy new apparel. So, you're a male nurse now, Dean?"

"An orderly," Dean corrected, with a wayward grin. "Sam's more of the male nurse type."

"You didn't steal them, did you?"

"No."

"Dean?"

"I said no."

"How did you get them? I know you didn't have a lot of money."

"Darlin', you've no idea what I can get my hands on if I really need it."

"All right. I'll accept that."She sighed deeply. "There's a gurney right outside the door. Go get it." Angelina swept past Dean as he headed out the door and waved her hand over the heart monitor then removed the leads. The monitor continued to beep in a slow steady rhythm.

Dean pushed the gurney up beside the bed as Angelina removed Sam's IV. He lowered the guard rail and the side of the bed, shoved the gurney into place and locked the wheels. With Angelina's help, Dean wrapped the bottom sheet around Sam, rolled the edge and used it to help slide him over onto the gurney. Dean grabbed the blanket and tucked it securely around his brother.

"Did you park right outside?" Angelina asked.

"I parked so close, people are gonna have a helluva time gettin' in the damn door."

"Good."

Dean kept his head low as they traveled down the long corridor, although no one seemed to even notice them as they bustled past. They entered an elevator, along with an older doctor, and Dean pushed the button for the ground floor.

The olive-skinned doctor with a thick mustache, gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses glanced up from his clipboard and noticed Sam. "What's the matter with him," he asked, concern evident in his gentle brown eyes.

Dean shook his head, shrugging. "Dunno. They don't pay me to diagnose' um . . . just ta push 'um around."

Dean's hand balled into a fist as the older man lifted the blanket covering Sam and examined his shoulder.

"This doesn't look good. Maybe I should take a look at him."

Dean was about to slam his fist into the doctor's face when Angelina grabbed onto his sleeve and gave him a look that clearly said, _don__'t even think about it_, _Dean._ She turned and smiled sweetly at the man.

She placed her hand on the doctor's shoulder. "That won't be necessary. Go back to your work. You are alone in this elevator."

The man's brown eyes glazed over. He furrowed his brow. He looked around and then returned to his paperwork.

The bell tolled for the ground floor and they stepped out.

"Why didn't you just tell me you could do some sorta freak mind thing on them? It would've made this a lot easier. I wouldn't of had to wear this." He gestured to his uniform and grimaced.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dean," was all she said in reply.

Dean's fingers tightened around the bars of the gurney, his knuckles turning white, a cagy expression on his face as they rushed past the admit desk. The nurse behind the counter glanced up at him, frowning. She tapped another woman on the shoulder and inclined her head toward Dean.

Dean swallowed hard, beads of sweat prickling the back of his neck as the second woman stood and headed in their direction. Angelina nodded to her. The nurse's dark blue eyes lost focus, glazing over. When they returned to normal, she glanced around scratched her head and sat back down. Dean let out a deep sigh and continued onward.

At the door, three EMS workers and a security guard stood talking quietly amongst themselves. The security guard raised a hand to stop them as they approached. The other hand rested on his walkie-talkie, ready to call for backup if needed.

"Where do you think you're taking him?"

Angelina cleared her throat, and smiled, her green-blue eyed gaze hypnotic. "Could you get that door for us."

A puzzled expression crossed the big, burly man's features. His eyes narrowed and Dean was sure he was going to call someone to help. The man nodded and pushed it open for them. "Have a nice day," he called out to them as he went back to chatting with his friends.

Dean eased his brother into the back seat of the Impala, covered him with the blanket and pressed two fingers against Sam's carotid artery, he searched for a pulse. Once he found Sam's faint heartbeat, Dean let out the pent breath he'd been holding. _That a boy, Sammy . . . you keep on fightin__' !_

Dean slammed the door shut and strode around to the driver's side and snatched the parking ticket from the front windshield. Opening his door, he slid in beside Angelina. He threw the ticket in his glove compartment, and glanced back over his shoulder at his brother.

Sam's face was contorted in pain. Blooded seeped from the corner of his lip; deep crimson in sharp contrast to his deathly pale complexion.

"Damn it!" Dean swore through clenched teeth, slamming the palm of his hand against the steering wheel.

He turned the key and gunned the engine, peeling out of the parking lot and headed back toward the forest. Back to where his brother waited for him.

_I__'m coming, Sammy __— you just have to hold on a little longer._ _I__'m coming._


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

Sam leaned against a tree and drew in a shaky breath. With teeth clenched and fingers trembling, he carefully pulled his t-shirt away from his injured shoulder, flinching when the material stuck to his skin yet he felt no pain. He grimaced. Splinters of wood clung to his torn jagged flesh. Broken shards of bone protruded from the gaping wound.

_At least it's not bleeding, that's good. Isn't it? But then again, dead people don't bleed either. _

"Damn!"

Sam forcefully pushed himself away from the tree, dropped his head back on his shoulders, and whirled around with both fists raised. "Show yourself, you sorry sonuvabitch! Let's end this now!"

"Sammy," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Damn it!" He cursed under his breath, not wanting to turn around. He didn't want to see him. Knew he wasn't real. Knew it was another trick. "Go away. Or I swear to God, I'll put so many salt rounds in you, you'll never crawl back out of Hell again."

"Sammy . . . the war's over for you. You've fought the good fight. No one can say you haven't."

Lips pursed tightly against his teeth, Sam shook his head as he slowly turned around. "No . . . it's not over. Not by a long shot. Dad."

His father hadn't changed much. John still appeared every bit the formidable warrior: scruffy hair and beard a little grayer and a tad longer; dark brows framing, dark sad eyes.

"You're not looking so good, dude. Where's your brother?" John strode over to Sam, his eyes scanning the area in search of Dean. Carefully, he pulled Sam's tattered shirt back to check his injured chest. "Damn it, Sammy!" John drew in a sharp breath. "This looks really bad. Why isn't Dean here? He needs to get you to a hospital."

It was his father. He'd come back. Sam's eyes blurred, unspent tears stinging his eyes. He'd wished every day since his father had died that he could see him one last time. To say he was sorry. To tell him he loved him. To forgive him for not being there. But now he was here and Sam had to tell him he'd killed his eldest son.

How could he tell his father what he'd done? How he'd killed Dean. His firstborn dead at the hands of his youngest. He couldn't do it. _Dad, I'm so sorry._

"He died. Belial killed him."

"And you plan to fight this demon alone?" John's eyes narrowed menacingly as he toyed with his silver ring.

"I'll fight to my last breath if I have to . . . it's what you taught me to do."

John crossed his arms, shaking his head adamantly. "You can't fight Belial alone, Sam." His tone every bit as authoritative as it had always been. "You'll never win."

"That's where you're wrong." Sam threw his arms out to the sides, palms outstretched, and shook his head. "I've got nothing left to lose. Everything I cared most about is gone. When you died, Dean was all I had left — now he's gone. What more can Belial do to me?"

John grabbed Sam's shirt and pulled him closer, his brows drawn close together, an angry scowl on his lips. "He can keep you trapped here forever, tormenting you every single day for his own amusement. Do you think I want that kind of hell for you?"

Sam's own anger sparked, igniting a fire deep down inside of his soul. His eyes narrowing to thin menacing slits as he swatted his father's arm away. "What you want for me?! You gotta be kidding!" Sam leaned in, his face mere inches from his father's. "What about Dean, Dad? What did you want for him?"

"Sam — "

"No — don't you say it! Don't you dare say it was his job to protect me!" Bitter tears sprang to Sam's eyes. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. "He's dead, Dad . . . I killed him!"

"You what?" John growled, his voice trembling with rage.

"I killed him, Dad!" Sam repeated. "Tell me, is that you wanted for him? Christ! The last thing Dean ever saw before he died was me," Sam vehemently smacked his hand against his chest, "Me pulling the trigger of the gun that killed him."

Sam stalked back and forth, clenching and unclenching his hands into tight fists. "And as for Hell." Sam glared at his father, shaking his head, "I'm already there . . . it's just in a different location. So don't you dare tell me what you wanted for me!"

John nodded, a grim, tight-lipped frown pulled at the corners of his lips. "Sammy, it doesn't have to be this way. You could —"

"Do what, Dad? Make a deal . . . do what you did? My soul for Dean's life?"

"It wouldn't have to be like that," John coaxed. "You both could live . . . have real lives. No more hunting. You could go back to college. Hell, Dean could even finally settle down, get married . . . be happy. It's what you've always wanted."

"Right, Dad . . . then what? I give my soul to Belial and then what? I start murdering innocent people at random or would my targets be more significant in nature?"

"You can't just let Dean be dead, Sammy. I gave up my life to save him. He would want to

live . . . he would want you to live."

"No, I don't think so."

"But, Sammy — "

"And don't you dare call me Sammy, Belial!" Sam's upper lip quivered with scarcely controlled rage, his brow furrowing, eyes dark and stormy. "My father would never ask me to give up my soul. He just wouldn't."

"Bravo, Sam . . . that didn't take you very long at all to figure out." Belial let out a maniacal laugh as John's brown eyes glazed over, turning opaque before swiftly changing to ebony. "Think about it, Sammy . . . . Hell, I'm feelin' generous so I'll even throw in your old man. Two for the price of one . . . it's a good deal."

"No," came Sam's tight-lipped response. "I don't make deals with demons. No matter what I stand to gain in the bargain."

"You're good, Sam. She was right . . . you're a lot stronger than I thought you'd be. I won't make that mistake again."

Before Sam could react, Belial grabbed his shirt, lifted him from the ground and slammed a powerful fist into Sam's jaw. Sam's head snapped back, a cry escaping his lips. Once more, blessed darkness engulfed him, freeing him from Belial relentless torment.

Belial threw Sam's motionless body to the ground and spit on him. "I will have your soul . . . it's mine by right. You can count on that." He disappeared in a brilliant burst of flickering flames.

It was a beautiful dream. It had to be. Out of utter darkness came golden light; an aura surrounding the angelic creature who knelt at Sam's side. Glorious silver-white wings arched high as she gathered his head into in her lap. Gently, she ran delicate, soothing fingers through his damp hair as she prayed for him. "Oh, great heavenly Father let thy will be done, protect thy warrior son. Guide him through this dark and stormy night . . . pray, do not let his weary soul take flight."

Although Sam had never heard the language before, he understood the words. "Am I dead?" Sam questioned, his mouth suddenly dry, his vision sliding in and out of focus.

"Not yet, Sammy." A wry smile tugging at the corners of her pale pink lips. "You still have one battle left to fight . . . one person left to save."

"I don't think I can . . . not without Dean. I'm not strong enough."

"Sam, I've been beside you your whole life. I've watched you grow, comforted you when you were broken-hearted, watched over you as you fought. I would never ask you to do something I didn't think you were capable of doing."

Sam swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his throat. "Tell me what to do."

"When the time is right, you will know."

"What about Dean?"

"Dean will live, Sammy."

"No, Dean's dead . . . I killed him."

She lightly brushed aside the tears running down Sam's cheek. "No Sam, it was a guiltless crime . . . you never hurt your brother . . . you never could."

"Dean's alive?" Sam asked in disbelief, his voice hoarse and strained. _No, he can't be. It's just another lie. But what if he is? _More tears sprang to his red-rimmed eyes. "No, I saw myself shoot him."

"Belial just made you believe you did. He used your own worst fears against you. Fear that you would murder your brother. That you would turn evil."

"I felt the gun go off . . . saw the look in Dean's eyes." _Please, God, let it be true. Let him be alive. _"You should've seen the look on his face." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to block out the image of his brother dying. "It was like he couldn't believe I would actually hurt him."

"That's because you didn't, Sam."

"Then where is he? Why didn't he come back for me?" Sam sat up, peering into the darkening forest for any sign of Dean. _He's not here. I know he isn't here. I searched the whole damn forest_. _If he were here, I would have found him by now. _"If Dean is alive where is he?"

"Close your eyes, Sam."

Sam's brows pulled together, his eyes narrowing in distrust.

"It's okay . . . just close them."

Reluctantly, Sam obeyed. Soft, warm fingers gently traced a path over his forehead and came to rest on his eyelids. He felt himself lift off the ground, floating weightless, traveling high above the woods. Her touch kept him aloft, the cool night's breeze caressing his face. The wind died abruptly, a stillness filled with the lingering scent of coffee and laced with the spicy aroma of Dean's familiar aftershave taking its place.

"Open your eyes," the angel whispered in Sam's ear.

For a moment, Sam remained where he sat, eyes closed, feeling the steady motion of the car, listening to Zeppelin's _Stairway to Heaven_, playing low on the radio, and Dean's ring tapping on the wheel in perfect rhythm with the song. Afraid to look. Afraid it would be another lie.

He opened his eyes.

_Dean._

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment, checking him over for any signs of a gun shot wound. He found none. Sam's face faltered briefly and then he grinned. His smile turning to deep laughter as a rush of relief surged through his entire body.

Hands trembling, Sam reached out to touch his brother's face, only to have his fingers pass through Dean's flesh. Dean shuddered involuntarily, the Impala swerving slightly to the left. Dean touched his cheek as Sam drew his arm back.

"Dean," Sam called out to him.

"He can't hear you, Sam," the angel said as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Dean glanced into his rearview mirror, his green eyes haloed in thick dark lashes, his brows pulling together in concern. "Hold on, Sammy. Don't you dare quit on me, dude." Dean let out a deep ragged breath, and returned his vision to the road ahead.

"I won't, Dean."

She motioned to the backseat and Sam turned his head and saw himself lying there, broken and bruised. Sam drew in a deep staggering breath. He shook his head, turning away from the Sam beneath the covers. The Sam who appeared close to death. The Sam whose face was so battered it almost didn't look recognizable. _That's not me. It can't be._ _I would have felt all those bruises."_

Sam ran his fingers along his face, gently touching the jagged gash on his cheek and his swollen eye. His tongue traced a path along his split lower lip. _How could've I not felt these? _He turned questioning eyes to the angel beside him.

"Your brother never left your side. He never would. He took you with him."

"I don't understand."

"You're dying, Sam. But your will to live . . . to stay with your brother, to fight at his side, won't let you go."

"I won't leave him!" Sam argued. "I promised I would never do that again!"

A sad disheartened frown settled on the angel's beautiful features. "That's your choice, Sam. But know this much before you make your decision . . . Belial is counting on you not to leave your brother."

She touched his forehead. Sam closed his eyes and he felt himself go weightless again, felt himself traveling back to the forest.When he opened them again,he was in the woods alone.

Sam stood. Stretching, he pulled himself to his full height, flexed his fingers and set off back to where he'd first seen Belial. Back to where it all had begun. A determined glint lighting a fire in his eyes. Dean hadn't left him. Dean had taken him with him. And now Dean was coming back. They would finish this together . . . as brothers.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

Dean absentmindedly tapped his ring against the steering wheel echoing the rhythm of _Stairway to Heaven _as he drove, his thoughts solely on Sam and how to save him. Angelina hadn't exactly been forthcoming with any information on how Dean was supposed to help his brother when he'd given her the things she'd asked him to buy.

"_They'll be there when you need them," _was all she said, when he'd asked what they were for.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean? _

Dean shivered, a cold unnatural draft filling the car. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Something touched his face . . . as soft as a cool breeze. _Sam?_ Dean's fingers instinctively moved to his face as he wistfully bit down on his lower lip.

He could have sworn he'd heard Sam's throaty laughter, sensed his fear.

"_Dean." _It was Sam's voice, although it sounded distant and muffled.

_That's not possible. It can't be Sammy. _Dean glanced into his review mirror. His brother lay motionless, his eyes tightly shut, head cradled in Angelina's lap. Dean's brows pulled together, his eyes misting as he held his breath and waited until he saw Sam's chest slowly rise, and then fall. "Hold on, Sammy. Don't you dare quit on me, dude." Dean let out a deep ragged breath, and returned his vision to the road ahead.

_I won't._

Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. _Damn it, Sammy, where are you. _He might have been mistaken the first time, but this time he definitely heard Sam's voice. _I'm holding you to that, Sam._

"How much further?" Angelina asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Not much, about another ten minutes or so."

"Could you go a little faster?"

In answer to her question, Dean pressed harder on the gas peddle, maneuvering along the mountainous roads with expert skill. "Is he — "

"He's waiting for you, Dean."

Dean didn't like the way that sounded. It felt too final as if Sam was waiting to say goodbye.

_You promised, Sam. I'm not gonna let you break your word. _

Dean trained his vison on the road ahead, watching as trees and houses whisked by in a blur. Unspent tears stinging his eyes as he tried to block out any thought that didn't included Sam being okay.

Dean turned onto Green Bridge Road, honking his horn to scatter a group of deer crossing the road. He drove over a bridge, the last bit of sunlight shimmering off the cold black water of the Moose River, then turned into a small alcove off to the right, and parked the car.

Dean stepped out of the Impala and took a deep breath. The air felt thick and unnatural, the strong scent of sulfur assailed his senses, nearly gagging him. He peered into the forest and could've sworn he saw the darkened image of a man with expansive wings and glowing crimson eyes staring back at him. Demonic laughter carried on the strong breeze. Dean blinked and when he looked again it was gone.

Dean inclined his head, and nodded in the direction of the demon. "Laugh all you want now, you sorry sonuvabitch, cause I'm coming for you."

He strode around to the truck, popped it open and began methodically checking and loading his weapons, glancing up as Angelina came to his side.

"You aren't going to need any of those, Dean."

"I know how to do my job, Angelina," Dean said, not looking up at her, his voice hard and determined. "You of all people should know that."

"They won't do you any good." She placed a calming hand on his arm to stop him from what he was doing.

Dean cocked his head to the side and stared at her for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw jerking erratically. "What do you expect me to do? March back in there totally unarmed, carrying my dying brother in my arms with nothing more to protect him with then some dumb brass incense holder and a ring."

Angelina returned his steady gaze, unflinching. "Yeah, Dean, that's exactly what I expect you to do."

He shook his head. "Not gonna happen, Sweetheart."

"Then you'll lose."

"You don't know that."

"I'm an angel, Dean, what don't I know? All I'm asking you to do is have faith . . . it's not that hard to do."

Dean stood, drumming his fingers vehemently against the hood of the Impala, undecided. His father would never have gone into a hunt without being prepared. John had taught Dean everything he knew about the supernatural, however none of what his father knew included dealing with stubborn angels. _Dad, why couldn't you be here? Sammy needs you . . . I need you. _

"Fine." He slammed the trunk closed. "Happy now?"

Angelina smiled and held out her hand. "The knife, Dean."

"What knife?"

"The one in your pocket." She gestured to his right side.

Dean grimaced, snatched the knife from his pocket and handed it to her. "I gotta warn ya, Angelina, there had better be good strong coffee and M&Ms in heaven cause after I get done having my ass kicked all over this forest, I'm gonna be a bit on the cranky side."

"You'll do just fine. Now go and get your brother."

Dean eased Sam out of backseat, pulled him into a standing position and leaned him against the car. Sam's head drooped forward, his chin resting on his chest, thick brown waves of hair covering his eyes. Dean brushed Sam's hair to the side. "Dude, you seriously need a haircut."

Dean hooked his arm around his brother's waist and was about heft Sam over his shoulders into a fireman's carry when Angelina stopped him.

"I'll carry him, Dean."

"What?"

"I said, I'll carry your brother."

"No one carries Sammy except me."

"Stop being so darn obstinate, Dean." Angelina crossed her arms, tapped her foot impatiently, and glowered at him. "Look, we both know it's a long walk and although you'd rather die then admit it, Sam's a lot heavier than he looks."

Dean glared at her defiantly, waiting for her to back down.

"You need your strength to fight Belial," Angelina cajoled "I promise you nothing can harm Sam while he's in my arms."

Dean finally nodded, conceding defeat. "Dealin' with demons is a helluva lot easier than dealin' with you . . . you know that? If they piss me off, I can just shoot the sonsuvbitches."

Angelina grinned, gently pushing Dean aside, she carefully lifted Sam into her arms.

They walked in silence along the overgrown path. Strong, bitter winds pushed hard at Dean's side, knocking him off the muddy trail several times. Angelina marched onward, unaffected in the slightest by the unnatural wind. Sam's head was cradled against her chest with her face gently touching his forehead; a pale golden shimmering light enshrouded them both. And reluctantly, Dean was forced to admit to himself Sam was safer with her then with him.

At the edge of a grouping of old oak trees, Angelina stopped and handed Sam over into Dean's outstretched arms. "I can't go any further. The rest is up to you and Sam."

"What?"

"I have to leave you now." Tears glistened in her green-blue eyes and a sad smile crossed her face as she stared at Sam. "I have faith you will do the right thing."

Dean glanced down at his brother, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, his heart in his throat. "You're not telling me something, are you?" His own voice sounded high pitched and strained to his ears.

"Sometimes we are given choices which seem to be the answers to our prayers, but no matter how good they may sound at the time, we can't allow ourselves to even consider them."

"I don't understand." Dean's brows pulled together, his eyes narrowing, upper lip quivering.

"Belial only needs one of you. You or Sam . . . he'll try and take you both, but he doesn't need to. If either of you give in to him . . ." She hesitated, drawing in a deep breath then slowly releasing it. "It's not just you who will suffer for it, but everyone. Everyone, Dean."

Dean's grip tightened around Sam. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes. His mind reeling, angry heat flushing his face. "So all this talk of having faith, saving Sammy, what was that?!" he exploded. "Don't bring any weapons, Dean . . . you won't need them . . . what are we to you — just lambs to the slaughter?"

"I know it's not fair, Dean. And I don't expect you to understand —"

"What? Were you guys bored up there so you thought, 'hey lets screw with the Winchester's! Like our lives weren't messed up enough already."

"Dean —"

"No," he shook his head adamantly, "I don't want to hear anything else you have to say . . . I'm gonna save my brother — with or without your help."

"Sometimes saving them means letting them go, Dean."

"I can't do that — won't do that."

"Then Belial has already won . . . destroy the heart — win the soul. He doesn't need Sam — he's already has you." Tears fell down her cheeks unchecked as she stepped back and disappeared in a burst of brilliant white-hot flames. Wispy, chilled fog rose from where Angelina had stood, growing and sprawling outward to blanket the forest.

Dean shifted Sam in his arms, his tautly strained muscles protesting against the weight. He turned and entered the copse of trees. Trudging to the spot where he'd found his brother a few days before, Dean gently leaned Sam against the tree. He sat beside him, protectively wrapped his arm around Sam's back, and pulled him closer. _You're gonna be okay, Sammy. _

"We're here, Sammy," Dean's voice hitched in his throat, tears blurring his vision. "It's just you and me . . . open your eyes."

Sam felt Dean's presence the moment he stepped into the small clearing surrounded by gnarled old oak trees. _Dean. _His face faltered briefly before a brilliant smile lit his features. In an instant, he was at his brother's side, kneeling.

He touched Dean's shoulder, and Dean shivered, his grip on Sam's body stiffening in response. Sam drew back, and grasped onto his own ghostly shoulder. _I felt that Dean! I actually felt that. _

"Dean."

"Sammy?" Dean called out, his stormy eyes searching the small expanse, desperately trying to see Sam. "Damn it, Sammy . . . answer me!"

"I'm right here."

Suddenly, Sam doubled over, his insides felt as if they were being turned inside out. Stark pain ripped through his right shoulder, his broken ribs throbbed viciously. _Oh, God, Dean! It hurts. _His vision blurring to a red haze as he felt himself being yanked back inside of his body. He choked out a sob, biting down hard on his lip.

"Dean." Sam cried out, his voice hoarse and raspy.

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean quickly repositioned Sam so his head rested in the crook of Dean's arm. "I gotcha, little brother."

Sam tried to open his eyes, but his left eye was swollen shut. The best he could manage was a narrow squint, but it was enough. He could see Dean. Could feel strong arms holding him, protecting him. Relief to see his brother changed rapidly to fear when he noticed the weary, defeated look on his brother's face. Their eyes locked briefly then Dean turned away.

Sam licked his swollen, split lip, tasting dried, salty blood. "Did we — " he winced, holding his breath until the pain eased up slightly. "Did we win, Dean?"

"Not exactly, Sammy."

"Oh," was all Sam could manage to say, his mind so garbled, the pain so intense he had trouble holding onto a single thought. Sam shivered, a cold draft prickling the flesh on his legs. He glanced down and noticed for the first time that he was barefoot and wearing a hospital gown.

"Dean, I'm wearing a hospital gown."

"Yeah."

Sam waited for Dean to explain. Waited for him to look at him, but Dean remained silent, his eyes darting back and forth as he scanned the woods for any signs of danger.

"Dude . . . why am I wearing the stupid hospital gown?"

"You've been in the hospital for the past few days."

Sam couldn't understand the cold distance in Dean's voice or why he refused to look at him. It just wasn't like Dean not to jump at the chance to make some witty comment, to flash a rakish grin, and let Sam know everything was going to be all right. _Is he mad at me? _As hard as he tried, Sam couldn't think of any reason why Dean would be acting like this._ Did I do something wrong? _

"You okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, m'okay."

Sam stared hard at him through his one good eye, feeling his brother's body tense under such close scrutiny. "You're sure," Sam asked again, swallowing hard, he tasted blood in the back of his throat. "I . . . I didn't do something wrong, did I?"

"No, dude," Dean said with a single shake of his head. "I'm just tired." Dean ran his hand along the length of his haggard face and rubbed his eyes.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Excruciating pain, tore through his body, and ravaged his mind. His back arching, he screamed out in pain over and over again.

Dean's grip tightened around Sam, pulling him closer, strong hands trembling. "Don't you quit on me, Sammy! Don't you dare! You promised!"

Sam clutched his chest, blood soaking through the thin material of the hospital gown and oozing out beneath his fingertips. His head slammed back forcefully against Dean's shoulder. "Oh, God, it hurts so much, Dean," Sam sobbed, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his lips.

"Come on, Sammy . . . fight for me!" Dean's tone turned fierce even as his face crumpled, his lower jaw quivered. "You can't leave me."

"Sam, your brother needs you," came Belial's cool seductive voice as he plunged dagger-sharp nails deep into Sam's chest once more, more blood spilling from the wound. "He doesn't even have to know we're having this little talk. He won't have to know. Give me your soul and I'll make all the pain go away. For you. For Dean. You're hurting him, Sam. Do it for Dean, Sam. He can't live without you."

"I-I can't." Sam's voice hitched, his chest heaving as another torrent of searing pain ripped through his body.

"You have to, Sammy," Dean cried, his voice muffled as he buried his face in Sam's hair. "You have to hold on. I need you to stay with me."

"You see, Sam. He'll die without you," Belial coaxed. "You can save him — he would do it for you." Belial smiled as he dug his claws deeper into Sam's chest. "One word from you, Sam. One word is all it takes to save your brother."

"Let go, Sam," came a soft angelic voice. "Just let go. Your sacrifice will not go unnoticed."

Sam peered up, and through his blinding pain saw an angel haloed in brilliant white light, and in his heart Sam knew this moment. Knew what he had to do. With a curt nod of his head he looked up at his brother.

"I never gave up, Dean . . . never gave in."

"I know." Dean's green eyes glistened with tears, his lips tightly pursed against his teeth as he nodded bravely. "I'm proud of you, Sammy."

"I-I'm sorry, Dean." He choked on a sob, brown eyes pleading with Dean to understand. "I don't want to leave you. I have to." Sam drew a ragged breath as he clutched onto Dean's jacket. "I love ya, Dean."

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean cried out, crushing Sam against his chest.

Sam took one more staggering breath and then let go accepting release from his pain even as he accepted his fate. His body relaxed, going slack in Dean's arms.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Dean held Sam's lifeless body to his chest, his arms locked in a crushing embrace, bitter tears burning his eyes. A painful, emptiness constricted his chest, cutting off his breath. _You can't be gone, Sammy. I can't do this without you . . . not without you._

He shifted Sam's body so his head was cradled against Dean's arm. Gently, Dean brushed Sam's hair away from his closed eyes, and stared at his brother's peaceful but battered face. _It's not supposed to end like this, Sammy . . . I was supposed to save you — protect you._

"Come on, Sammy, breathe for me — don't you leave me behind," Dean cried out, the walls he'd built to protect himself from pain crumbling around him.An intense ache, so sharp and forlorn he thought his heart was being ripped from his chest, tore at his broken soul.

Pressing Sam to him, he slowly rocked back and forth, his chin resting against the top of Sam's head, dampening his hair with tears. _I was supposed to die first — was prepared to die first._

"Dean." Angelina knelt beside him, a halo of golden light enshrouding her, glorious silver-white wings fluttering softly in the breeze.She reached out, but he jerked away from her touch.

"Go away." Dean pulled Sammy closer, felt chilled skin against his face. "Haven't you done enough already? I — I trusted you and you let him die."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean shook his head, not looking up at her, his face brushing against Sam's hair. "I don't want to hear you're sorry . . . I just want you to go away and leave me alone."

"The battle's not over."

"It is for me. I'm done . . . there's nothing left." Dean choked on a sob, his heart constricting painfully inside his chest. "You've taken everything — I have nothing left to give."

"Sam was very brave, Dean."

He glanced up at her, and she was weeping. Green-blue eyes glistened as tears cascaded down her shimmering ivory skin. Delicate hands locked together as if in prayer. She was beautiful in her sorrow, but it wasn't enough . . . not nearly enough. He couldn't forgive her for her treachery.

"You're not telling me nothin' I don't already know."

"Dean — "

"Why did my brother have to die — my father — my mother!" He slammed his fist against his chest repeatedly. "You took everyone else. Why couldn't you have just taken me — not Sammy? He could've lived. You knew it was supposed to be me!"

"It doesn't work like that. I don't choose who lives and who dies."

"Then why are you even here? Just go back to wherever it is you came from." Angelina opened her mouth to speak, but Dean cut her off. "I mean it . . . go away and leave me the hell alone!"

"All right, Dean. But I'll be here if you need me." She stood and stepped back into the mist, disappearing as it enshrouded her.

Darkness surrounded him, creeping into his heart, filling his soul. No sound, no sight . . . the world had stopped. It had to. It couldn't go on. Not without Sammy. Dean held his breath, felt his lungs burn, wishing his heart would stop beating as memories collided with horrible reality. Visions of younger days, happier times filled his mind, and made him weep all the more.

"Remember that huge blizzard, Sammy . . . God, I don't even remember where it was, but we got snowed in. And the next day I talked you into climbing onto the school roof to jump into that mammoth snow drift." A wry smile twisted on Dean's face as he brushed his fingers through his hair. "Dude, you should've seen your face after I leapt off the building." Sad laughter caught in his throat and he choked on a sob, his face twisting with emotion. "Man, I thought you'd stay up there forever after that — but then I took your hand and we jumped together. You landed face down in the snow. You remember?" Dean swiped away an errant tear. "And I thought you were crying — I was so scared you got hurt and then you turned over and you were laughing. Oh, God, you were laughing so hard."

Dean glanced down at Sam, praying he would open his eyes . . . praying he could hear his brother's deep contagious laughter just one more time. "It wasn't all bad times, Sammy . . . wasn't all hunting — there were some good times — really good times."

"And then you left — went away to college," Dean's voice faltered, a hard knot forming in his throat. "I hated you for that. Never could understand why you needed to leave." Dean inclined his head, his brow furrowing, trying desperately to fight back his anger. "Even then I watched over you, Sammy — watched as you hunted alone — it broke my heart to know you didn't leave hunting behind — just me." Dean wept bitterly, swatting away tears as they streamed down his face. "Did you really hate me so much you had to leave me behind?"

Deep, echoing laughter filled the emptiness, burned its way into Dean's thoughts. Dean peered up and saw Belial leaning against a tree. Expansive gray wings arched high, touching the upper branches, black eyes glistening with an intense obsidian gleam. Belial cupped his hands together, and clapped.

"Bravo, Dean. Very touching." He chuckled again. "I'm even forced to admit that if I had a heart, it might be breaking for you."

In an instant, Belial was at Dean's side, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to his feet. Freed from his brother's embrace, Sam's body slumped motionless to the ground.

"The great Dean Winchester . . . funny, you're shorter then I'd thought you'd be."

"Still tall enough to kick your sorry ass, you sonuvabitch!" Dean snarled, glistening green eyes turning fierce.

"You know you can't win, Dean," came Belial's mirthless reply.

"Maybe not," Dean uttered with a single shake of his head. "But I'll go down kicking your ass all the way back to Hell!" Dean clenched his fist and drove it forcefully into Belial's ribcage, then slammed his other fist into his jaw.

Belial's head snapped back. Releasing his grip on Dean's shirt, he staggered backward. He straightened to his full menacing height, rubbed his jaw and smirked. "Is that the best you can do? I have to admit my disappointment." Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "You're going to be as easy to kill as your brother."

"You son of — "

With a flick of his wrist, Belial sent Dean hurtling through the air, crashing into a boulder and landing in a heap on the ground. Dean didn't have a chance to scramble to his feet before Belial was at his side, hauling him back up.

"He begged for mercy, you know. Begged for it. Calling out for you to save him as I plunged my claws into his flesh. He was pathetic."

"No! Sam is brave!" Dean growled, charging Belial. Belial disappeared only to reappear a few feet away.

"Was brave — past tense." Cocking a sardonic brow, Belial bashed his fist into Dean's gut, then backhanded him across the face.

Belial lifted his hand to strike again. Dean expertly dodged the fist, grabbed onto his shoulders and drove his knee into Belial's stomach.

Belial took a back step, smiled and nodded in approval. "Better. It still won't bring your brother back."

"Leave Sammy out of this, you bastard!" Dean rushed Belial again. Belial caught his fist mid-strike, bending it back at the wrist and forcefully driving Dean to his knees.

"Oh, but I can't. How does it feel knowing your brother died because of you?"

Dean shook his head, glaring up at Belial. "You killed Sam!"

"You didn't protect him, Dean," Belial taunted. "I could change that — could make it all go away. Your soul. Sam's life. It's more than a fair exchange. Sam is of greater worth than you are."

"You want me to trade myself for Sam's life?" Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could have Sammy back. His gaze strayed to his brother's lifeless body, his heart aching with loss, his soul burning with the desire to hear his brother's voice, to see him smile. _Damn it Sammy, I can't just let you be dead._ "You could do that?" Dean swallowed hard, vile tasting bile rising in his throat.

"I can. You could have Sam back, unharmed in anyway — his pretty boy face unmarred. No hideous scars. He won't even remember he died or was even here for that matter," Belial coaxed, a victorious gleam in his eyes. "All you have to do is agree."

Belial released his hold and Dean rose to stand.

"And then what."

"You fight at my side instead of against me. It's a good deal, Dean . . . your angelic friend wouldn't offer you the same."

Dean brusquely raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes fixed on his brother's body. _Oh, God, Sammy what do I do? You wouldn't be dead if I had been here. You'd be alive. You should be alive. I should be dead. _

"It's not that hard a decision, Dean — your father did it for you. If you really love your brother, you would want him to live. He would want to live."

"I know he would." The bitter truth tore at Dean's insides, his stomach churning and coiling in tight knots.

"Then let him live."

_Sammy, I can't do this alone . . . tell me what to do. _As if to answer his unspoken plea, he heard Sam's voice inside his mind. _I never gave up, Dean — never gave in. _Dean nodded in understanding. _Sam didn't have to die, he chose to die. _

"No." Dean shook his head.

"What?" Belial asked in utter disbelief.

"I said no . . . . You sorry sonuvabitch! What's dead should stay dead — no matter how much I wish it weren't so."

Belial open his mouth to speak, but the sound of someone calling to Dean stopped him.

"Dean . . . where are you, dude? I came to help you find your brother."

Dean spun toward the familiar voice, a feeling of dread washing over him. "Earl! Get the hell outta here! Now!"

Earl stood between two giant oaks, arms crossed, staring at Belial.

"Earl!" Dean shouted again, trying desperately to get his attention. "Damn it, Earl! Listen to me!"

"No, Dean. I think your friend should stay. After all, any friend of yours is someone I would like to kill."

Dread turned to panic, clutching Dean's gut. Earl wasn't moving, wasn't even listening to him. He just stood there, his hawklike eyes trained on Belial. Dean couldn't protect him_. Damn it! Why the hell, did I listen to Angelina! Why didn't I bring any weapons! _Earlhad come to help him and he was going to die and it was all Dean's fault.

"Oh, I have no intention of going anywhere, Dean," Earl stated, his calm voice turning fierce, never taking his eyes off of Belial. "We are old acquaintances — aren't we Belial?" The ground beneath Dean's feet shook as Earl spoke. "Only the last time I saw him he was getting his butt kicked by Solomon."

Belial's face contorted with rage as he realized who he was dealing with."Gabriel," he sneered.

"Gabriel?" Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. "Gabriel," he pointed toward the sky, "as in kick-ass archangel Gabriel?"

"One in the same, Dean." Gabriel arched his back, lowered his head, and magnificent silver-white wings unfurled, spreading outward high above his head. Pure golden light enshrouded him as he raised his head and smiled at Dean. "Much better." He returned his threatening gaze to Belial.

"So you're here to intercede on his behalf," Belial gestured toward Dean.

"Nope." Gabriel marched over to Belial and leaned in menacingly close. Belial was forced to avert his eyes from Gabriel's heavenly glow. "I'm here to even the playing field."

Gabriel turned and threw something to Dean; glints sparkling against the gloom. Dean snatched it mid-air, opened his fist and stared down at the shining brass ring with the Star of David emblazoned on its surface.

"Put it on, Dean."

"Don't you dare!" Belial hissed, lunging at Dean.

Gabriel swiftly grabbed Belial by the neck, lifted him and threw him forcefully to the ground. His foot slammed down hard on Belial's chest, pinning him.

Dean slid the ring on his finger. His eyes crammed shut, body shaking and convulsing as wave upon wave of inexplicable power surged through his body. He finally opened his eyes and stared down at his hand, balling it into a powerful fist. He smiled at Gabriel as comprehension dawned on him.

"I think the Winchester boys have stood too long in darkness." Gabriel raised his hands then lowered them. "And GOD said, 'Let there be light'."

Angels gathered in a wide circle, shimmering golden light encompassing them. In awe, Dean slowly turned around, staring in disbelief until his gaze lit on Angelina. She smiled, turning partially to draw someone from behind her; holding Sam's hand as he stepped into the circle.

Dean's gaze flitted to his brother's body, still lying on the ground. Two angels knelt beside it, wide wings spread around him protectively. He glanced back at his brother's ghostly image. Sam bit at his lower lip wistfully and nodded to Dean.

"Sammy?"

Sam smiled radiantly. The wind gently ruffled his long, brown hair. There was no fear in his hazel eyes, no sadness, loneliness. His handsome face not beaten, no deep jagged gouges, no hideous raised welts, not spattered with his own blood.

Dean had never seen him like this before. Sam was happy. Really truly happy. No regrets . . . nothing left undone. And although it broke Dean's heart all the more, he couldn't help being proud that Sam finally found peace.

"Kick his ass back to Hell, Dean — for the family — for me."

"Oh hell yeah, Sammy!" Dean grinned. "I'm gonna open up a can of Winchester whoop-ass on him the likes of which no demon has ever seen before!"

"Have at it, Dean." Gabriel released Belial, and Belial scrambled to his feet as Gabriel backed away. Belial's chest smoldered. Acrid, wispy black smoke rose from the imprint left by Gabriel's foot.

Dean slammed his fist into Belial's stomach, sending him hurtling through the air, landing a good fifteen feet away.

"Oh, shit!" Dean stared at his closed hand for a moment in disbelief. He glanced up at Sam, laughing. "Did you see that, Sammy? I just so totally pulled a Superman move on his sorry ass."

"Yeah, I — Dean watch — "

Before Dean could think to react, Belial swung him around and slashed cold, deadly claws across Dean's cheek, blood oozing from the deep gashes. Hooking his arm around Dean's neck, Belial rammed his fist into Dean's stomach repeatedly. Dean grabbed Belial's wrist twisted it, throwing him to the ground. Belial sprang to his feet. They circled, each looking for an opening.

"Smell that, Dean." Belial sniffed the air. "Sam's flesh is rotting even as we speak. Are you gonna bury him, maggots feasting on his brains? Or are you gonna burn your precious Sammy's body?"

A deep growl rumbled within Dean and he charged, caught Belial in the mid-section, both careened to the ground. Dean scrambled onto Belial's chest and pummeled his fists into the demon's face, black blood spilling from Belial's mouth and nose.

Belial bucked him off, and sprang to his feet. Dean followed.

"You're running out of time, Dean. Sam's body is growing cold," Belial taunted as he swiped the blood from his pale lips."You'll be alone. Alone!" He smirked, his demonic glare strayed to Sam's body momentarily, before returning to Dean. "You can't be alone — never could."

Dean's stormy gaze diverted to Sam lying on the ground. Belial seized the opportunity. With a wave of his hand, Belial sent Dean sailing through the air. Dean slammed into a tree, grabbing onto and snapping a thick branch as he landed with a thud on the ground.

Stalking back and forth, Belial waited for Dean to stand. "Save your brother, Dean. Save him for yourself. You've never asked for anything for yourself before. This is your chance — you won't get another."

Dean scrambled to his feet, threw the broken branch aside, and flexed his tired, sore muscles. "What's that I smell, Belial?" He took a deep breath. "I'm thinkin' it's fear! No demon screws with Dean Winchester and lives to tell the tale!"

Angrily, Dean barreled toward Belial at full speed, slammed into him, knocking them both to the earth. He smashed his fists into Belial's face over and over again, Belial's head snapping back and forth with the force of the blows.

Dean leapt off Belial, dragged him to his feet, whipped him around, and threw him forcefully into a tree, impaling him on a thick broken branch. Jagged splinters of wood stuck out grotesquely from his chest. Black blood spilled from beneath the massive wound.

With long purposeful strides, Dean marched over to Belial. "Ironic isn't it." He smirked. "I think that's what they call poetic justice," he uttered, slamming his fist into Belial's face.

"Dean," Gabriel spoke with quiet authority, and Dean checked mid-swing, his arm trembling with the desire to pummel the demon pinned before him. "Finish it. Send him back where he belongs as Solomon once did."

Gabriel stepped forward, opened his hand and a brass vessel appeared, glints of radiant light glistened off five perfect jewels, sparkling with an intensity, the likes of which, Dean had never before seen. One gem outshone the rest, glittering in unimaginable colors.

"Five jewels, Dean." Gabriel explained. "Four to represent the elements; air, fire, water, and earth. The fifth represents the human element . . . the willingness to sacrifice one's own desires and needs in order to protect the greater good." He gestured toward the gleaming jewel. "And truthfully, this is the only one that matters. This one is yours."

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned, baffled by the statement.

"If either you or Sam had accepted Belial's offer, this stone would not have been here." He tapped on the gem for emphasis. "Belial would have won and the world would have been cast into a darkness it wouldn't have recovered from."

"Someone should have so told me that before."

"We couldn't, Dean." Angelina moved to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "It had to be your choice."

"Yeah, no pressure there, darlin'." Dean glared at Belial, felt the anger still burning inside him unquenched. He took a deep breath and looked back Garbriel. "The fate of the whole world in mine and Sammy's hands?"

"End time prophesy, Dean," Gabriel calmly stated. "It's in the Bible. Read it."

Angelina touched Dean's face, running cool fingers over the deep gashes on his cheek and Dean felt pain yield to her healing touch. "It's time, Dean. Send him back where he belongs."

"How?"

"You have Solomon's ring," Gabriel said, handing the brass vessel to Dean. "Command him back into the brassen vessel as Solomon once did. And then we will pitch it back into the fires of Hell."

Stunned, Dean stared at the ring on his finger. "No shit, this is really Solomon's ring?"

"Yeah." Gabriel let out a deep laugh. "Figured he wasn't using it anymore."

"So, I just tell him to go back into the vessel thingie and he'll listen."

"No," Angelina interjected, "you command him to."

With a cocky smile, Dean scratched the back of his head, and nodded. "Gladly." Holding the vessel in both hands, Dean raised it to eye level. "Belial, you sonuvabitch, I command you to go back to Hell where you belong!"

"No!" Belial snarled, body writhing against the tree limb, dark gray wings fanned violently. "I won't go back!"

"I said, go back to Hell, you evil sonuvabitch!"

Belial arched forward viciously, blood spurting from his chest. "You'll never be free of me! I'll haunt your every dream!" Blood seeped out from between Belial's jagged teeth, dripping down his chin. "I killed your brother and I will come for you. I'll be back, Dean! You know I will!"

Dean inclined his head to the side, his dark green eyes narrowed. "And I'll be waiting for you! Hell, I'll kick your ass as many times as I need to, to make sure you stay gone! Now go!"

In a dazzling explosion of white-hot flames, Belial disappeared. Black, pungent smoke rose of the brass vessel in Dean's hands.

Gabriel took the vessel from Dean and placed a lid over it. "To the end of days, to the very last of hours, begone from this place."

Brilliant white light emanated from Gabriel's hands, too bright to look upon. Dean closed his eyes. His face and eyelids burned, forcing him to turn away from the intense heat. When he was finally able to look again, only Gabriel and Angelina remained. The circle of angels was gone. Dean's breath caught, gaze darting around the clearing. His brother's spirit was gone.

He lowered his head, and move with weary dejected purposefulness to kneel at Sam's side. Gently he lifted the cold, still body in his arms. There weren't any tears now. Nothing remained. He was hollow inside. He was empty and alone. He pressed Sammy close to his chest."We won Sammy — I did it for you, little brother."


	12. Chapter 12

I wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone for sticking with my story to the end. I really hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully the ending will please everyone, so let me know what you think. I look forward to writing many more stories about the boys! Thanks again, Bambers;)

_Chapter Twelve_

Sam glanced back over his shoulder to where he'd just seen his brother, then returned his attention to the dominating presence of the angel beside him and the wonders that spread out before him.

Beautiful orbs of soft glowing light danced and floated effortlessly around him. The intoxicating aroma of lilacs and honeysuckle clung to the warm breezes as angelic music filled the air. Sam knew he should be content, knew he should be happy. But in truth, the peace and happiness he had felt dissipated the moment he saw the lost, broken expression on his brother's face.

After Dean defeated Belial, Sam had seen the worried, frantic look in his brother's eyes as Dean looked for him one final time. Then Dean gathered Sam's body into his arms and the pain in his grief was so palpable it tore through Sam's heart to see his brother's sorrow. Desperately Sam had tried to reach him, to comfort him, but there was no way.

_I can't go. Not now. Not yet. Not without knowing, if Dean is going to be okay. _He wheeled to face the angel and stood his ground.

"What will happen to Dean?" Sam tilted his chin defiantly, jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowing in determination, adamant that he wouldn't budge until he knew Dean was going to be okay. "Dean doesn't do well on his own. He never has."

It was a feeble attempt to evoke some sympathy from the very intimidating winged-creature, and Sam could tell it wasn't working. He forced an awkward smile when the angel just stared at him without responding. Staring into his dark depthless eyes Sam knew he was in the presence of one of the greats . . . an archangel. No doubt about it.

If Dean had been there, he would have found away to break the icy silence. He would have made some wisecrack, probably at the expense of the brick wall of an angel who stood beside Sam. But as hard as Sam tried, he couldn't find anything funny about the situation. Maybe his sense of humor died along with the peace and joy that was his moments before.

The sweet melody grew louder and the warm radiance of light caressed him. Sam could feel the comfort it offered, but he still felt cold inside. _Dean's alone. I promised I would never leave him again. Why didn't I fight harder? Why couldn't I find another way to stop Belial?_

"I'm not taking another step until you answer me." Crossing his arms, Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. "The way I see it, I've got an eternity to stand here being a pain in your ass. Believe me, I'm very good at brooding. Just ask my brother. So you may as well tell me what I want to know, or else you'll never have another moment's peace."

The angel let out a deep exasperated sigh, and arched his brow. "Your brother's fate remains undecided." Dark penetrating eyes, held Sam's, boring straight through him, until Sam was forced to lower his head, afraid.

"Why?" Sam swallowed hard, his chest constricted as he braced himself to hear what the angel had to say.

"Many battles remain before him. You are safe now, but demons will hunt him relentlessly until they turn him . . . or death releases him. Either way, he will find no rest."

"You have to stop this. You have to set him free," Sam pleaded, his stomach churning at the thought of Dean alone, trying to fight off endless swarms of demons.

"Is that what you want for him, Sam?" The archangel wrapped finely chiseled arms around his expansive chest and waited for an answer. His expression dark and unfathomable.

"Yes. I want this over for him," Sam blurted out without the slightest hesitation "No more hunting. He deserves a better life, free from demons. He's given you enough already. You've taken too much from him."

"What about all the people your brother could save — his destiny?"

A sharp twinge of guilt seeped into Sam's heart, but he refused to listen. _If Dean hunts alone, he'll die alone — I can't have him die alone. _"He's saved enough people. He deserves a life of his own."

"Are you so sure that's what your brother would want?"

Reluctantly, Sam shook his head.

"And yet you still ask it for him?"

Sam could only nod, a squirming deep in the pit of his stomach for all the lives he knew would be lost because of his request, but he needed to know Dean would be safe without him.

He eyed Sam for a long time before nodding. "Granted. If your brother agrees, he will be free. This is my promise to you."

Sam's relief was short-lived. "And if Dean doesn't agree?"

"Then you will have to accept it and move forward." The archangel inclined his head toward heaven and nodded. He looked back at Sam. "Wait here. I will return soon."

Sam dropped to his knees as the angel vanished from his sight, cool white mist swirling around him. _Wait. They expect me to wait while my brother's fate is decided amongst angels and demons. _An angry, helpless feeling burned deep inside his soul. _No, I don't have to accept this . . . I swear to God, Dean, I won't let you hunt alone . . . no way I'll let you die alone_. _I just won't, even if I have to become a ghost, and haunt your damn stubborn ass._

"Dean." Angelina sat beside him, her hand soft upon his shoulder. "I am proud of you. You did the right thing."

Dean refused to look at her, lost to his own grieving. _If I did the right thing, why the hell does it hurt so much? And why do I wish I'd chosen differently?_

"Look at me, Dean," Gabriel commanded in a tone that brooked no argument.

Dean glanced up, stormy green eyes locking with resoluteblue ones. "Never doubt you did the right thing. You saved a lot of people, including yourself."

Shaking his head, Dean closed his eyes tightly against the sight of the angel standing before him. "I didn't do it for myself. I did it for Sam. I couldn't bear the thought of him feeling the same guilt I felt when I realized what my father did to save me — it would have killed Sammy to know that."

"Don't sell yourself short." Gabriel knelt beside Dean, glorious wings fanning outward, a light breeze gently ruffling his feathers. "You are a great man, who is destined to do amazing things. This is only the beginning for you."

"No, not without Sam," Dean's breath caught, a painful knot in his throat. "I'll hunt alone; it's all I know how to do. But don't talk to me about destiny. My heart is gone, it died with Sammy." He lowered his head, drawing Sam's body closer, his chin resting on his brother's head. When he looked up again, there was an emptiness in his eyes.

"You don't have to hunt anymore, Dean. That life is over for you," Angelina said as she lightly caressed his cheek. "Our promise to Sam."

Dean looked from her to Gabriel and back again. "What do you mean, your promise to Sam?"

"His soul couldn't be at rest if he thought you were hunting alone and his sacrifice was so great we could not deny his last request," Gabriel replied as he glanced toward the sky.

"So I have no choice in the matter?" Dean's brows pulled close together, his eyes narrowing, an angry scowl on his face. "What about all the people who will suffer if I stop hunting?" Dean adamantly shook his head. "No. I can't just let other people die because I didn't even try to stop it."

"It's your choice," Angelina replied, her voice soft and reassuring. "But it is what Sam wants for you. He wants you to be happy, to get married, have kids, grow old with someone you love."

"I don't want to love anyone. I can't." Dean shook his head, his lips pressed tight against his teeth. "I won't lose anyone else."

"Then what do you want?" Gabriel asked.

_Sammy. I want my brother back. I want things the way they were._ Dean knew he couldn't ask it, knew it was impossible, but it didn't stop his heart from wanting it desperately. "Just let me hunt. I want to kill as many evil sonsuvbitches as possible, and save as many lives as I can before I die."

"You'll die alone, Dean," Angelina assured him, her green-blue eyes filling with tears. "Your body broken, your lifeblood spilling into the earth. No one to mourn your loss."

"I know."

"And you accept this?" Gabriel rose to stand, his wings lifting imperiously.

"I do."

"And what of Sam? What he wanted for you?" Gabriel waited for Dean's answer.

A wry grin lit Dean's face. "I think Sam already knew my answer; but tell him his guilt trips only work on me when I can see those big, sad puppy dog eyes of his."

"I will." Gabriel frowned. "But from what I've already experienced with your brother, he is not going to take this lightly."

"Yeah, that's Sammy." Dean's breath caught, a wistful smile on his face.

"He will know of your decision." Gabriel fanned his silver-white wings as if to take flight and then disappeared in a flash of glimmering golden light, leaving Dean alone with Angelina.

"That damn stubborn idiot!" Sam stalked back and forth through the swirling mist, his fists clenching and unclenching as he listened to the archangel explain what his brother had said. "And you did tell him it was my last request right?"

The archangel nodded.

_Damn it, Dean_!_ Don't you know you're supposed to honor a dying man's last request? _Sam paced for a few moments more before he swung around and faced his companion, crossed his arms and glared defiantly at him. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nope, if he's gonna be a stubborn ass then so am I."

"What are you talking about?" the angel asked, a hesitant smile on his face.

"I'm so gonna haunt his sorry butt." Sam turned away, contemplating how he was going to make his brother's life a living hell until he gave in. "I'll turn on country music when he's listening to Metallica, flatten his tires when he is getting ready to go on a hunt, turn the water cold when he wants to take a shower — Oh, I could shave off his hair when he's asleep." A devilish grin twisted on his face as he ran his hand through his hair. "Never did get him back properly for putting Nair in my shampoo."

"You can't do that, Sam."

"Why the hell not? Angry spirit here." Sam jabbed his finger into his own chest for emphasis. "Even Doctor Ellicott said I had a lot of unresolved family issues when me and Dean were researching the Roosevelt Asylum."

"Well, it is true you are a bit more hostile than most people heading for the Pearly Gates," the archangel said, his voice tinged with humor.

"Exactly." Sam scratched the back of his head, not entirely sure how he would become an angry spirit. His mind raced through the extensive ghostly knowledge he'd accumulated, determined to find an answer that eluded him. Nothing. He turned a quizzical eye to the angel. "How does one go about becoming an angry spirit?"

The archangel nearly choked on a laugh. Sam blushed. He turned away, not wanting him to see how stupid he felt.

"You could. . . ." the angel's voice trailed off.

"I could what?" Sam swung back to face him, a determined glint in his eyes.

"No," he shook his head, his glistening wings ruffling. "I was just thinking aloud. It's not something I would even want you to consider."

"Tell me."

The archangel was quiet for a long time as if deciding what he should say and then he cleared his throat and spoke. "You could go back — finish what you and your brother started together."

"I can do that?" Sam's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Would you really want to return?"

"I want to go back. I want to be with my brother."

"You'd be leaving behind any chance for real peace you might ever find."

"I know." Sam glanced toward the shimmering light beckoning to him, and saw his mother. She reached out to him, a wistful look in her blue eyes. He smiled at her, wanting to comfort her, but knew he couldn't. Not now. _Please understand, Mom . . . Dean needs me . . . I need him. _He turned back to the angel. 'I'm ready to go home."

Angelina lifted her face toward the heavens, and smiled. "Dean, give him to me." She reached out to take Sam from his brother's embrace.

Dean shot her a nasty look. "Hell no! You can't take him from me." He pulled Sam's body closer against him, safe from her outstretched hands.

"Trust me. I have no intention of taking him from you."

"Nope," Dean shook his head emphatically, "I trusted you once already and my brother died."

Angelina let out an exasperated sigh. "Very well." She leaned over Sam, kissed his pale blue lips and placed a hand over his heart. "Two ravaged lives intertwined, their hearts and souls combined, one life lost, one left behind, dear heavenly Father, let the dark hours of his death unwind. Bring back your Warrior Son, there is too much he has left undone."

Sam's body jerked out of Dean's grasp. His back arched as he drew in a deep breath followed rapidly by another and another.

Dean's eyes widened, his mouth agape as he stared at Sam. Dean leaned over his brother's prone body, pressed his ear to Sam's chest, straining to hear the faint rhythm of his heart growing stronger with each beat. He looked up at Angelina, not quite believing — praying with all his heart that it was true.

"Sammy?"_ No. It can't be. You can't be breathing._

"Now that, Dean," she pointed toward Sam. "That is supernatural — and don't you ever forget it."

"How?" was all Dean could think to say, his mouth suddenly dry, his voice hoarse.

"Your brother loves you, Dean — loves you so much he would die for you, defy angels and demons for you, give up Heaven for you."

"I know." Dean lowered his head, watching to make sure Sam was still breathing. When he saw Sam's chest rise and fall in rhythmic precision, Dean let out a deep laugh and patted his shoulder. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy."

The laughter died on his lips as he thought about what Sam had given up for him. _Damn it, Sammy, why would you do such a stupid thing? I saw you, you were at peace. I've never seen you like that before, ever. Why would you give that up for me?_

Angelina cleared her throat, drawing Dean's attention back to her. "He doesn't regret his decision, Dean" She rose to stand."He wants to protect you too — let him."

"I will," Dean said with a single nod of his head.

"No, you won't," Angelina said with a laugh. "But try, for both your sakes."

She turned to leave a fine, silvery mist rising around her, then swivelled back to face him, brushing stray chestnut locks out of her eyes. "I just wanted you to know I didn't come here to save Sam, Dean. I came to save you."

"I don't understand."

"Somewhere along the line you've come to feel your life is less important than Sam's. That's simply not true." She leaned down, placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him on the forehead.

Dean stared at her mutely, biting at his lower lip.

"You are a great warrior, Dean, but you are an even better person. Don't ever forget that." Her fingers stroked his cheek, a satisfied smile on her face. She let her hand drop to the side. "And so I came here to let you know demons are not the only ones who have great plans for you boys." Angelina drew in a breath, then let out a deep sigh. "But more importantly, I came because sometimes even heroes need to be saved."

Dean swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the effort. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Shimmering mist rose to enshroud her as she spread her wings to take flight. "Take care of yourself, Dean. I'll be watching."

To Dean's utter amazement, she flew away, silver-white wings glistening against the indigo sky.

"Dean?"

"Damn it, Dean," Sam grumbled, a cool draft vexing his backside. Glancing over his shoulder repeatedly, Sam tried ineffectually to see if the stupid hospital gown he was wearing was closed. He groped at his back, grimacing as he felt a good size gap between the drawstrings holding the gown in place. Grasping hold of both sides of the thin material, Sam attempted to cover his bare butt and turned narrowed eyes toward his brother. "Boxers would've been nice, dude."

Dean smirked as he held up both hands and shook them. "There was no way I was touchin' your underwear, dude."

Intent on keeping himself unexposed, Sam tripped over a thick root snaking across the ground and stubbed his toe. Catching a short gasp through clenched teeth, he grabbed his foot and cursed under his breath. When the pain subsided, Sam noticed the amused expression on his brother's face. "So not funny, Dean."

"I didn't say a word." Dean shook his head, feigning a look of complete innocence.

Sam glanced down at his bare feet, a disgusted look on his face. "Shoes . . . shoes might've been nice too."

"Quit being a girl, Sammy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."


End file.
